


The Time Has Come to be Gone

by jujuberry136



Series: Time Has Come 'Verse [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-03
Updated: 2011-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujuberry136/pseuds/jujuberry136
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aaron Hotchner stepped into the interrogation room to interview one of the FBI’s most wanted unexpectedly apprehended earlier in the afternoon, he never thought the evening would end with bloodshed and rock references. Criminal Minds/Supernatural crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time Has Come to be Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through Season 4 of Criminal Minds and through Season 4 of Supernatural. Title from the Led Zeppelin song “Ramble On.” Special thanks to Ambrosia4all for betaing, Wikipedia, Supernatural.wikia.com, and horrornews.com for Supernatural transcripts. Furthermore, this fic owes a debt of inspiration to Kkkimax’s “Defect” and PaBurke’s “Hunters and Prey.”
> 
> Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to Ed Bernero, Supernatural to Eric Kripke. Dialogue used from “The Usual Suspects” written by Cathryn Humphris (original airdate 9/9/2006 on the CW)

_"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." Joseph Conrad_

Aaron Hotchner was supposed to be finishing his paperwork at the moment. He should have been drafting his second letter of appeal to Agent Strauss to be cleared for field operations. He should have been ignoring yet another argument between Prentiss and Reid over their favorite incarnation of some doctor on a BBC show (he was not the only one to be studiously avoiding asking either agent for clarification for fear of explanation). He should have been on a plane leaving Missouri a small speck in the jet’s window.

Instead he was outside the Jackson Police station not 5 hours after they left. The JPD had finally charged Henry Davis, who had confessed after 3 hours of intense interrogation, with the deaths of three nurses over the course of the past year. Davis had wired each woman’s lightning rod into its fuse box—when their houses were struck the boxes overloaded and burnt the house down. Davis confessed, in his oddly staccato voice, to having tampered with the doors and windows to lock the women into their homes before thunderstorms to ensure they burnt alive. Hotch made a mental note to specifically praise Morgan’s incendiary analysis in his final report — it was due to his vigilance at each scene that the link between the lightning rod and the fuse boxes had been discovered.

JJ interrupted his ruminations, with a quiet “Are we going to go in, sir?” She was standing outside the rented SUV but hadn’t yet closed the door. Looking at his rumpled media liaison, Hotch felt another pang of regret; he supposed JJ had been anticipating her own return to Henry.

Hotch looked down at his buckled safety belt with some surprise, nodding slowly, and opened the door. Rossi, Prentiss, Reid, and Morgan were still at the hotel. He had put the team on stand-down, but had a sneaking suspicion they were simply waiting until he was distracted to return to the station. It’s not everyday the BAU successfully caught their unsub and a suspect on the most wanted list.

“Have Garcia pull up all of the files we have on this guy. Tell her to start digging, nothing too deep until we have confirmation of his identity.” JJ nodded and opened her phone while Hotch threaded his way through the crowded desks on the floor to Captain Robert’s office.

Captain Robert didn’t even have the decency to look exhausted—he’d changed his suit at some point, but still exuded the same energy and confidence he’d displayed during the course of the Davis investigation. The police captain grinned wryly at Hotch’s unannounced entry, “Bet you didn’t expect to see us so soon again?”

The captain stood, “He was picked up about an hour ago for hitchhiking on Route 34. Officer Jones was originally going to write him a ticket when he pulled over, but he thought the man looked familiar. Since he was claiming to be looking for the police anyway, we just decided to bring him in. Could have knocked me down with a feather when he passed his own wanted poster on the walk in. We’ve left him in the interview room so far. Called you lot instead of the St. Louis office. No offense, but those guys are some of the biggest—“

Hotch interrupted before the Captain could say anything too impolitic. “So the identification is visual only at this point?”

Captain Robert shook his head, “We’ve taken his fingerprints for confirmation, but the physical description’s a lock. He’s currently claiming to be David St. Hubbins, says he was car jacked and was just trying to wave down a lift into town to get to the police station.”

Captain Roberts looked concerned, “When he came in he requested some water. We gave him a cup and a pitcher. So not only does he have those, but as we didn’t want to alert him that his cover was blown we didn’t search him thoroughly.” He sighed heavily, “I’m not comfortable letting an interview take place until we pat him down. His record shows he usually carries a handgun and has shown a preference for knifes, so there’s a high chance he’s carrying at least one. How do you want to approach this?”

Hotch paused in front of interview room, glancing inside he could see the tall man had tilted his chair against the wall and appeared to be sleeping, though the set of his shoulders looked too tense for true repose. “Don’t let anyone into the room until we have more information. Once we have more information, I’ll go in — we’ll search him for weapons then. You said on the phone that he’s been calm so far, so let’s hope that continues until we go in. Just in case, I’ll have my technical analyst do a search for Mr. St. Hubbins.”

Seeing Captain Robert nod, Hotch stepped aside and called Garcia.

“Font of wisdom speaking, how can I help you lesser mortal?”

“Garcia I need you to run the name David St. Hubbins, he would have a California Drivers License, supposedly lives in Pomona.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, “Sir, you want me to investigate David St. Hubbins? Is this for the masters round of Trivial Pursuit? Did Reid finally allow someone to call a lifeline? Oh wait, are you timed like in the show?”

Hotch broke in when he sensed Garcia was ready to breath, “What exactly are you talking about?” For a moment there was complete silence, then a suspicious thump before Garcia began talking, this time more rapidly than before.

“Sir! Oh, um, right on it. Professionally investigating in a Federal Bureau of Investigation sort of way Mr. St. Hubbins. Just a moment, sir.” She paused, “Sorry, it’s just that David St. Hubbins is a character from Spinal Tap. You know, the Christopher Guest movie? About a fictional rock band?” Her voice trailed off and Hotch heard her fingers move across the keyboard rapidly. “Sorry sir, there isn’t any Mr. David St. Hubbins anywhere in Pomona that I can find.”

Hotch looked back into the room and started to examine the suspect more carefully. The man’s clothes were worn, his jean jacket folded carefully on the table. “Garcia, I want you to fax all the files JJ asked you to pull up earlier to the station. I want everything—the official case file, notes, contact information for every witness interviewed on this case. I also want you to find the case report for the explosion that killed the previous supervisory agent.”

“Already done sir, JJ’s been manning the fax since you arrived, sir.”

Hotch closed his phone and walked towards Captain Robert, who had been helping JJ organize the still incoming paperwork. JJ had pulled out the whiteboard the team had used only a few hours ago and started posting pictures and writing dates of suspected killings from the case file. Captain Robert had pulled aside Officer Jones, and the two were deep in conversation.

Seeing the fax continuing to shoot out paperwork, Hotch asked, “JJ, how long has the Bureau been investigating?”

JJ scanned the case file quickly, “Looks like about two years. The case was considered closed because it was assumed the suspect died in the same explosion that killed the lead agent,” she rifled through the pages again. “It says here that Agent Victor Henricksen was assigned the case in 2006 and was killed in action in early 2008 in Colorado. Shortly after Henricksen reported the successful capture of the Winchester brothers, the police station in Mission exploded — killed four police officers, the Sheriff, the office administrator, Deputy Director Steven Groves, Agent Henricksen himself, two field agents, and supposedly both brothers.”

“Apparently at least one of the brothers survived,” Hotch replied drily. He looked over at Captain Robert, who had joined JJ when he saw that Hotch was finished with his phone call. “Captain, I’m not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth, but the Bureau officially closed this case — any idea why his picture’s on the wall?”

Captain Robert pointed over at an uncomfortable looking Officer Jones. The younger office looked towards the ceiling and started to explain, “Well sir, updating the Wanted Board used to be Sammi’s job, but her position was cut in last year’s budget. And, well, we’ve just been too busy since to keep it current.” He shifted his weight a few times before continuing, “Guess it came in pretty handy this time. I doubt I would’ve recognized him if I hadn’t been passing his mug shot everyday for a year and a half.”

Before Hotch could respond, the station’s main door opened and admitted four slightly rumpled looking FBI agents. Hotch suspected JJ of calling the team; the blonde agent’s attention was completely focused on taping pictures to the whiteboard and she was refusing to look at him.

While Reid, Prentiss, and Morgan avoided Hotch’s glare, Rossi merely grinned as he shook Captain Robert’s hand and introduced himself to Officer Jones, who hadn’t been involved in the Davis investigation. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” he remarked, looking around the room slowly.

Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid simply walked up the board JJ had been putting together and started to read, though Reid’s approach could more accurately be termed hobbling. For the first time in his career, Hotch was grateful for the Bureau’s budget crisis—his team had to be sent out, even with two agents technically on restricted duty, because there was no one else. He still wasn’t buying Reid’s story of tearing his ACL while helping Garcia move, but they were sticking to their story. In any case, the youngest member of his team was on crutches for the foreseeable future.

Predictably, Reid finished examining the board first and moved on to the thick ream of paper JJ had faxed to the office. Stealing two chairs, one for him and one to rest his leg, he began summarizing after scanning the first section of suspect history. “Looks like his father was a marine, mother died when he was a child. After that we only have the misdemeanor charges from his late teens of breaking and entering, and another charge of grave desecration in 2001.”

“Henricksen thought the St. Louis murders in 2005 were his first. Looks like he used a knife to torture three women, ultimately killing two of them. The third survived when the police stormed her house—looks like he preferred to use the victims’ homes instead of a new location. Left their bodies out in the open when he was done.” Reid paused, eyes still moving rapidly across the case file.

“No remorse then,” Prentiss commented as she finished her first look at the suspect. “Egomaniac or narcissistic personality disorder? From the few times he’s been held in custody, we can see that he’s condescending—the authorities aren’t in a position to know what’s really going on. Henricksen’s notes definitely support the unsub having an inflated sense of self.”

She started to pace, three steps forward then three steps back. “He works with his younger brother, Henricksen thought the older was the dominant personality. Looks like the younger brother escaped for a few years, went to college. Then his girlfriend dies. The Palo Alto PD ruled the death a result of an accidental fire due to faulty wiring. Younger brother reported that he and his brother had been on a camping trip and came back to the apartment building on fire. They left the day of the funeral.”

“Did Henricksen think the brother had anything to do with the fire?” Rossi asked.

“Neighbors reported that the brothers left to go on a last minute camping trip. According to a friend, they were trying to find their father who had gone out of contact on a hunting trip,” Reid replied softly. “What’s more interesting, however, is that the family seems to have a history with fires—the mother died in 1983 in a house fire, then the girlfriend in 2005, then supposedly both brothers in early 2009.”

“How old was he in 1983?” Rossi asked sharply.

“Looks like he was four,” Morgan replied. “It’s possible he set the 2005 fire and caused the 2009 explosion, but the 1983 fire destroyed the entire house — I’m not sure a kid playing with matches could cause that kind of damage.” He paused and looked up at the whiteboard, frowning slightly. “I want to say he’s a revenge arsonist, but the St. Louis murders complicate things.” He shook his head at the bloody images in front of him.

“You’re right. The fires are probably secondary.” Rossi agreed. “He planned his killings in St. Louis and managed to escape cleanly when he was discovered by the police. He evaded FBI detection for over two years, and faked his death again in 2009. He’s organized, smart, and knows how to stay off the grid when necessary. What do we know about his early life?”

“Garcia’s on it. Henricksen’s notes suggest that while this one may be the dominant personality, he’s most likely a hedonistic thrill killer. If you look at the St. Louis victims, the victims were killed in their homes and by all reports had never met him. Henricksen suggests the younger brother is the planner of the two.” Hotch paused to consider. “At this point, I’m unsure if we should operate under the assumption the brother is alive or not.”

“If we follow from Henricksen’s notes, then it might be safe to assume the brother is dead,” Reid argued. “Without his brother, he’s lost most of his ability to plan ahead. He’s become unstable, probably the reason he thought he could walk into a police station without detection.”

“Now, he’s been sitting in police custody now for about an hour and aside from the occasional deputy asking him for clarification on his supposed mugging, nothing’s happened. He has to know something’s up, what’s the next step?” Hotch asked.

“Maybe he thought enough time had passed he wouldn’t be recognized.” JJ suggested. “What’re the odds that he’d get picked up in a station that hadn’t updated its most wanted board in 18 months?”

Before Reid could answer with the appropriate statistic, Prentiss started to speak. “Even with his diminished planning abilities, I still don’t think this was an accident. Look at this guy’s rap sheet, there’s no way this was a mistake.”

At their looks, she explained further. “From what little we’ve got on his life before 2004, we know that a few things are always constant. The brother, violence, and?” her voice trailed off suggestively. “What’s missing?”

Rossi realized it first, “No car. Even after the Bureau first started investigating they continued to drive the ’67 Chevy.”

Prentiss gave a small grin, “Boys and their toys. If this were truly spontaneous, he’d be furious right now—not cooling his heels in an interrogation room. And that’s with the assumption that Joe Carjacker would be able to overpower him.”

“So are we dealing with an unsub who’s spiraling or one who has he changed his M.O?” Hotch looked at his team. “He’s lost two of his defining characteristics. Rossi, you and I are going to get a feel for his mental state—is he in control? The rest of you, continue to go over the information Garcia sent over and assemble a cohesive profile. Agent Henricksen’s team got us started—let’s get it done.”

“JJ, I want you to get in contact with everyone Henricksen talked to in St. Louis.” Hotch instructed.

Before he could continue, JJ interrupted, “Hotch, it looks like Henricksen also had encounters with the brothers in Milwaukee during an attempted bank robbery, in Green River County in Arkansas where they escaped from prison, and has extensive notes from a local Baltimore investigation into the murders of a husband and wife.”

“Then I want anyone who came in contact with either brother or Agent Henricksen on the phone from all of those cities as well. When you get them on the phone, let me know.” Hotch smiled tightly. He picked up a large cardboard box and walked towards the only interrogation room in the Jackson Police Station.

Rossi caught up to him quickly. Before opening the door, he paused and turned to Hotch and smiled grimly. “Ready to push some buttons Agent Hotchner?”

“Apparently it’s one of Mr. Winchester’s favorite activities. I’m sure we’ll get along swimmingly.”

* * * * * *

Hotch and Rossi entered the interview room, each carrying large boxes which they promptly dumped on the wooden table. The man in the corner didn’t so much as flinch from the noise. Hotch reached into the box and pulled out a thick file folder, “Good afternoon Dean.”

The man opened an eye lazily, “Who?” He gave a half grin, “The name’s David St. Hubbins, that’s H-U-B-B—“

“You’re really going to try this?” Rossi asked. “Let’s just cut the crap. You’re Dean Winchester, born January 4, 1979 in Lawrence, Kansas. Son of Mary and John Winchester, one younger brother Samuel.”

Hotch noticed Winchester try to hide a small wince as Rossi reeled off the facts of his life. Was he worried they knew so much about his life, or was it the reminder of his brother? Looking at their suspect, Hotch could see how he was able to fly under the radar for so long. He was conventionally handsome, tall, and wore the uniform of the average young American—jeans, boots, and a tee shirt. Hotch doubted the three St. Louis victims had the chance to notice the jeans were threadbare and showed signs of repeated repairs. Or that his boots were scuffed and had suspicious stains along the sole.

“Gold star to the G-man,” replied Winchester, his mouth falling into an easy smirk. “But if you can tell me what color underwear I’ve got on, then I’ll really be impressed.”

Before Hotch had the opportunity to respond, Rossi responded. “This is funny? You tortured three women and killed two in St. Louis. What, couldn’t get it up?”

Aaron Hotchner had seen suspects shrug off accusations of impotence, had seen them start swinging, and, in one rare case, start tearing up. All of which helped his team refine their profile. Winchester’s reaction, however, wasn’t encouraging.

He started to laugh.

Winchester’s body was shaking as he pounded his leg emphatically. “Dude, you are hilarious. Your talent is wasted here, have you thought about stand-up?” He wheezed for a few moments before coming under control. He looked up at Rossi curiously. “You honestly think that one day I couldn’t get a stiffie so I decided a spot of murder would be some type of creepy Viagra?”

Hotch gave Rossi a long look and decided to try another track. “Mr. Winchester, why were you in St. Louis in 2005?”

Winchester started playing with the glass the officers had left for him earlier. Hotch made sure to track his hands as he passed it from hand to hand, occasionally tapping rhythmically with his index fingers along the rim. “Look, I went over this before. I didn’t kill those women. The police found the guy who did it—buried him and everything. Apparently he looked a heck of a lot like me. So why not get while the going was good?”

“Without bothering to tell the police you were alive?” asked Rossi skeptically.

Winchester rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, I bet they would have welcomed me with flowers and pie. Look, they found the guy who did it and he’s not around to hurt anybody anymore. Maybe he was my evil twin or something. No real reason to stick around while some donut-obsessed member of St. Louis’ finest tried to wrap his little mind around the fact that two guys can look alike, but one’s not a murdering psychopath.”

Winchester’s fingers had continued to tap along the rim of his water glass during his explanation. Rossi’s eyes widened slightly and asked incredulously, “Are you drumming Led Zeppelin?”

Winchester’s fingers paused and the man grinned at Rossi. “Good song.”

While Rossi attempted to recover from his lapse, Hotch glared at the unrepentant man in front of him. Henricksen’s notes had mentioned how effectively Winchester misdirected conversations, but he had understated how infuriating their suspect could be. “Mr. Winchester, let’s say your evil twin did in fact commit the murders in St. Louis, what’s your explanation for the murders in Baltimore? Did your evil twin commit bank robbery in Milwaukee too?”

“You, on the other hand, not so funny. Bet you think that John Denver is edgy,” Winchester complained, his eyes still bright. “By the way, I can totally hear the air quotes on evil twin. You might want to work on that.”

Before either FBI agent could respond, Winchester looked at them closely then slouched deeply into his chair. “You guys are talking out of your asses right now.”

“Why do you say that Mr. Winchester,” Hotch asked calmly, ignoring his desire to slap the smirk off his suspect’s face with long practice.

“‘Cause there’s no way you’d start by questioning the existence of my evil twin.” Winchester paused briefly, “And just so you know, the whole box with my name on it supposedly full of stuff the FBI’s found out about me trick really isn’t exactly the unknown. You might want to update your routine at some point. Just saying.”

As Winchester lectured, the interrogation room door opened and Morgan leaned in briefly. “Hotch, Rossi, there’s a situation you need to deal with out here.”

When the two agents started walking towards the door, Winchester spoke up. “What, you’re going to leave me alone again?” When neither agent responded, he yelled angrily at their retreating backs, “The least you could do is leave a magazine or something. Even the dentist has US Weekly!”

While Rossi continued into the busy office, Hotch pulled an officer aside to search Winchester. “Do a full search and take anything that could be used as a weapon or escape tool. He’s escaped police and federal custody at least three times, so anything that might be used as a lock pick should be confiscated immediately. When you finish, secure him and post a guard at the door.”

The young woman, Officer Campbell, looked slightly uncomfortable when Hotch finished. “Sir, I can put a man on the door for now, but we don’t have the man power to keep someone there continuously. As it is, I have to go out to talk to the Rangers at the Trail of Tears Park about some recent vandalisms.”

“Just do your best,” Hotch replied. “He’s killed two women that we know of and gotten away with it.” He quickly started back to the office to check in on his team’s progress with Henricksen’s case file.

* * * * * *

Upon his arrival, Hotch noticed the whiteboard had been updated with more pictures and a few basic facts from the bank robbery in Milwaukee as well as the murders in Baltimore. Hotch could see JJ reaching for the blue dry erase marker and realized Garcia had come through on the information on Winchester’s early life.

Morgan had taken over a desk and was talking quietly into the phone. When he saw Hotch, he waved him over. Holding a hand over the phone, he looked up and said quietly, “Hotch, I’ve got Detective Diana Ballard on the phone. She was one of the arresting officers in Baltimore. She says she doesn’t mind talking to us about the case, but wants us to watch the video from her partner’s interrogation first.”

“I think Henricksen has the transcripts from that interview in the case file. Is there any reason why she wants us to watch the video?” Hotch asked.

While Morgan repeated his question to Detective Ballard, Hotch walked over to Reid. The thin man, looking none too respectable in the same cardigan and tie as the day before, had taken over a corner desk and was busy assembling a timeline of the Winchester’s actions.

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked when it appeared Reid hadn’t noticed his arrival.

“The sheer amount of destruction and chaos he’s caused is terrifying,” replied Reid, his hand continuing to write in new information. “But there’s something unsatisfactory about the timeline.” He paused and looked up at Hotch, his forehead wrinkling slightly. “Actually, this case is disconcerting me.”

Before Hotch could ask if Reid wanted off the case or if he wanted to talk about it privately, Morgan called from across the room. “Kid, you’ve seen cases worse than this before. Sometimes people are just evil.”

“It’s not that,” Reid replied, his voice rising slightly as his eyes narrowed. “The crimes I can accept, it’s that the case as a whole doesn’t make sense.”

Before Morgan could reply, most likely with some line about murder not making sense that they’d all heard and said too many times, Hotch called to the rest of the team. “We can safely assume that Winchester’s stable. He was controlled and aware enough to attempt to maintain his alias until pressed with the facts.”

“I’ve sent an officer in to search him. Now that he knows we know who he is, there’s no point in taking additional chances. Though as far as I could tell he’s unarmed.” Rossi nodded his agreement. Hotch continued, “we’re back to the theory that he wants something. Specifically, he wants something from law enforcement.”

“Possibly something from the FBI,” Prentiss mused. “The Davis case got a lot of media attention in the area. Since he was picked up hitchhiking, it’s possible he caught some of the coverage and decided he wanted to talk.”

“But why now?” Reid asked exasperated. He made his way awkwardly to the whiteboard, his crutches punctuating the steady buzz of the station. As he continued to speak, he gestured vaguely with one arm towards the gruesome pictures taped there. “In the past he’s never tried to contact the police. In fact, he’d done everything in his power to avoid coming in contact with law enforcement—fake names, using cash and probably fake credit cards, and case in point, he’s faked his death twice now.”

Prentiss responded heatedly, “But look at their arrest in Green River County! They were arrested for trespassing in the Arkansas Museum of Anthropology — they broke a case and triggered the alarm!”

At Reid’s dubious look, she pressed onwards, “Kind of an amateur move for two people who had previously managed to evade S.W.A.T and then managed to break themselves out of prison. Henricksen theorized that they wanted to be arrested then too—“

Before this could venture too far — Hotch didn’t want a repeat of Reid and Morgan’s bitchfest over the implications of the Zodiac Killer’s cryptograms — Hotch asked loudly, “Let’s go over the facts first, then Henricksen’s theory, and see how it plays out with what we know. Morgan, call Garcia to see what she’s found so far.”

As Morgan moved to dial their resident technical analyst, Officer Campbell quietly reported to Captain Robert, who was sitting off the side watching the BAU work. Hotch wouldn’t be surprised to see an application from the Jackson Police Chief for the next seminar the BAU held in Washington on profiling in local police work. The man had been recalcitrant at the start of the Davis investigation, but their success at inducing a confession had apparently earned the unit a new convert.

Rossi started. “We know he was born in 1979, the eldest son of John and Mary Winchester. Mary was a housewife, John was a marine who served two tours in Vietnam, then came home to work as a mechanic. Dean has a younger brother, Samuel, born in 1983. Mary Winchester died in a house fire a few months after Sam’s birth. After the mother’s death, the father leaves Lawrence, Kansas with both boys.”

Garcia’s voice, tinny from the speakerphone in the office, picked up the narrative. “As far as I can tell, John Winchester hasn’t had a steady job since. He hasn’t paid taxes so no activity on his social security number. He doesn’t have a credit card under his name, and his drivers license expired about 15 years ago.”

“On the upside, I can track the family’s location a bit through the years. While they’re pretty much off the grid for over ten years, I was able to track down some educational records for the two boys once they hit high school. According to his college applications that I found, Sam Winchester claims to have attended six high schools from 1997 to 2001.”

Hotch decidedly didn’t think about how many civil liberties and privacy of information laws had been broken for Garcia to “find” that information.

“Campbell and DeNevi found through that among the 36 murderers and serial murderers they interviewed, 16% of the offenders experienced chronic instability and frequent moving and 47% experienced some home life instability,” Reid added, unable to stop the statistics at the tip of his tongue.

Used to the younger profiler’s tendency, Prentiss acknowledged the statistics with a nod of her head.

Morgan then asked, “Anything of note in the towns we know of while the Winchesters lived there?”

“Il mio bigné squisito scuro, you get a gold star for the day!” the technical analyst replied cheerily. While Reid and Morgan looked confused, Rossi and Prentiss groaned ever so slightly. “I heard that you two! That’s it, yearbook pictures are going viral!”

Hotch interrupted quickly before more threats could be levied. “What’s interesting about the surrounding towns Garcia?”

“I’ve found two cases of unexplained murders from nearby towns that fit in the timeframe that Sam Winchester reported in his college application.”

“Who was killed?” Morgan wanted to know.

“Looks like a man in Portage, Ohio was killed under suspicious circumstances in 1997—the same time the Winchesters were living in Bowling Green, Ohio.”

Reid interrupted quickly, “Dean didn’t graduate until 1998, and he would have been in high school at the time. Were the local PD sure it was a murder?”

“Kiddos, you asked for possible connections in Winchester’s early life—you got one. I called the Portage PD, no one there remembers the case, but the officer I talked to is going to try to find the police report and will fax it over to you ASAP.” Garcia replied briskly. “The other case was a man as well, all I could find online was that he was found dead inside a locked room and authorities were investigating. More info will be sent to you as it’s dug out of decade old storage units. I wouldn’t hold your breath for those files though.”

“Thanks Garcia.” Hotch said as he motioned for Morgan to hang up the phone. “What else do we know?”

“Well, he sure likes his classic rock.” Rossi pointed out ruefully. He turned to the team and explained, “Winchester was drumming a Led Zeppelin song when we were talking to him. It’s a possible tell, so be on the look out for it in the future.”

“His alias today was from a movie Garcia recognized,” Hotch added. “Spinal Tap or something similar.”

“Henricksen had a note that Winchester had a proclivity for using classic rock musicians as aliases,” Reid noted. He looked up at the team, his brow wrinkled, and started to talk. “Henricksen had training and criminology and behavioral profiling; he was working under the theory that Winchester is a hedonistic thrill killer. It fits in St. Louis—Winchester wants to dominate his victim, doesn’t spend too much time with each victim, and none of the victims showed signs of sexual abuse. Though the cause of death was still exsanguination in both sets of victims, the Baltimore victims ultimately died from severed carotid arteries while the St. Louis victims bled out due to numerous knife wounds.”

Noticing the blank looks on his teammates faces, Reid sped up, his words tumbling one after another as if he was afraid he wouldn’t have a chance to finish a thought. “It’s the 2007 bank robbery in Milwaukee that’s bothering me. He’d never exhibited a desire for monetary gratification before, so why rob a bank? At that point he’d already tortured three women in St. Louis and killed two of them and had been apprehended by police in Baltimore. It’s anomalous that he’d evolve to killing then return to lesser offenses.”

“Maybe his brother suggested it,” speculated Prentiss.

Morgan, who had been downloading a digital file of the Winchester interview with the Baltimore PD, spoke up. “Hotch, I’m not sure how much of the Baltimore investigation we should be looking at.” Seeing blank looks all around, Morgan asked, “Did you all miss the section on the investigating officers? Reid?”

While Reid avoided everyone’s disbelieving eyes, Rossi muttered under his breathe about focusing on the Green River County escape.

“I thought you had gotten in contact with Detective Ballard?” Hotch asked confusedly.

“I did, but Detective Ballard didn’t work the case solo. Her partner, Detective Peter Sheridan, was killed in the course of the investigation.” Morgan responded. “He was killed by Detective Ballard. She claims to have found him trying to execute Winchester on the side of the road and shot him in self-defense when he pulled his gun on her.”

“In her IAD statement, Ballard claims that her partner admitted to stealing heroin from police custody and Tony Giles helped him launder the money. When Sheridan was blackmailed for more money, he snapped and killed his fence, Tony Giles, and his wife Karen Giles, to cover it up.” Morgan looked up at the disbelieving faces in front of him and massaged his face with his right hand. “Baltimore PD formally dropped the charges against Winchester in September 2008 for the murder of Tony and Karen Giles. But seeing as they never bothered to press charges for escaping police custody in November 2006, they seem pretty convinced he wasn’t involved.”

The room went quiet as the team tried to absorb the new information, each mentally rearranging the facts of Winchester’s case to create a cohesive profile. JJ simply took the dry erase marker in her right and started to erase the Baltimore victims. It was only when she started erasing the Baltimore section entirely that Hotch stopped her.

“I think we need to watch the video that Baltimore PD sent over.” Hotch said. “Even if he wasn’t responsible for the Giles’ murder, it’s still an opportunity to learn more about our subject. Henricksen continued to keep this case as reference, why don’t we watch the video before discounting Baltimore entirely.”

As Morgan loaded the video on to the old desktop computer he was using, Hotch invited Captain Robert to watch with them. He agreed quickly, but with the caveat that he might have to leave suddenly as he was the on-call officer. Looking around, Hotch noticed that few officers remained in the station.

“Well, Officers Campbell left to consult with the Rangers at Trail of Tears State Park—there has been some vandalism lately and now we’ve got reports of another missing hiker. Officer Pankiewicz got called on an attempted robbery downtown, and Officers Jordan and Brown are off today. Officer Jones is finishing up processing Davis in the back and then he has to start writing up the investigative reports. So that leaves me until the night shift comes in,” Captain Robert explained quickly from his chair at the far side of the room.

At Hotch’s look of confusion, he explained further. “After we booked Davis, I told Jordan and Brown to go home. They deserve some time-off; they’d been working steady on it ever since we noticed the link between the first two victims. And well, we’ve got to limit our hours so we’re down to a six man shift rotation.”

Morgan gestured to Hotch that the video was ready to play, and Winchester’s face filled the screen and he looked straight into the camera as he began to talk. “My name is Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women.” He pauses. “And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did. Or, rather, what did. Of course, I can’t be sure, because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory is that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?” Rossi blurted out, just as the female detective did the same on screen. Hotch waved his colleague to silence and leaned forward, intent on capturing every nuance of Winchester’s confession.

“You know, Casper the bloodthirsty ghost? Tony Giles saw it. I’ll bet you cash money Karen did, too. But the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it’s trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil ain’t easy. Sometimes the spirits—they get things jumbled. You remember “redrum”? Same concept. It can be word fragments, and other times…” Here Winchester pulls out a piece of paper. Hotch can see it’s covered with messy scrawl, a list of names with some crossed out. Winchester continues, pointing to the paper, “…it’s anagrams. See, at first, we thought this was a name—Dana Shulps. But now, we think it’s a street — Ashland. Whatever’s going on, I bet it started there.”

Winchester smiles on screen, looking at the two incredulous detectives. He’s relaxed, Hotch noticed, apparently pleased to have elicited such a reaction from his captors. The late Detective Sheridan’s voice comes on screen after a moment. “You arrogant bastard. Tony and Karen were good people, and you’re making jokes.”

Winchester replies without missing a beat, “I’m not joking, Ponch.”

Detective Sheridan is getting increasingly upset at Winchester’s flippant tone. “You murdered them in cold blood just like that girl in St. Louis.”

Winchester looks straight into the camera again. “Oh, yeah, that wasn’t me either. That was a shape shifter creature that only looked like me.”

Detective Sheridan has had enough. He grabs Winchester and slams him up against the wall. Winchester lets out a soft whoosh of air and the two struggle for a moment before Detective Ballard intervenes. “Pete that’s enough!”

Winchester can’t leave well enough alone. “You asked for the truth” he responds mockingly when Detective Sheridan lets him go reluctantly.

The video ends with Sheridan instructing another office to lock Winchester up.  
The room is silent for a beat. Predictably, Rossi broke the stillness, “How the hell did Henricksen arrive at thrill killer after seeing this video? From the St. Louis murders alone, I can understand it, but this?” He shook his head disgustedly, “This is a full on psychotic break!”

“Did you listen to the words he used?” asked Reid intently. When the team turned their attention to him, he crossed his arms awkwardly across his chest and explained, “His word choice is interesting. It sounds like he’s trying to use police vernacular—the use of “investigation” and “working theory” in particular suggest that he sees himself as having equal, if not greater, authority on these supernatural crimes he’s trying to solve.”

“Did you notice the pronouns?” asked Prentiss. “He used the plural — ‘our investigation,’ ‘our working theory,’ ‘we think’—he considers his brother an equal in this.”

“Not the dominant personality then,” mused Hotch. He looked at the whiteboard balefully—so much for the morning’s work. “You’re right. If he were the dominant of the pair, he wouldn’t share the credit.” Hotch noticed Morgan was being unusually reticent, choosing to play and replay sections of the taped interview. “Morgan, what are you looking for?”

Morgan started slowly. “I think I get where Henricksen was coming from. Look, Winchester seems pretty adamant about a ghost causing the death of the Giles’, but he’s also calm and making pop-culture jokes. Reid, you talked about his words—he said he investigated. A visionary killer doesn’t need to investigate, he’s been told by God, a demon, or in Berkowitz’s case, a dog! They’re told who to kill and why.”

“Plus, Winchester mentions two types of monsters. We’ve got him blaming a spirit for the Giles’ and a shape shifter for the women in St. Louis—usually we see some consistency within the delusions,” Morgan finished. He grinned and looked at Reid. “Though I have to say kid, it puts a new spin on your evil twin, eviler twin theory.”

Reid picked up the papers he had been looking through earlier and studiously ignored Morgan and the rest of his sniggering teammates. As he paged through the end of the stack, Rossi moved to the whiteboard. “What about the father?” he asked, pointing at the section on the right. “We know the mother died in a house fire and John Winchester never held down a steady job or address again. He takes the two boys on the road and they all live a vagrant lifestyle until the younger brother leaves for college.”

“The father clearly had some sort of break after his wife’s death, maybe he’s the visionary killer. Growing up, the brothers would have been raised to believe in the father’s delusions, participate as well.” Rossi had been writing on the board as he theorized, and turned back to face the group when he finished.

Reid chimed in, having paged through the scans of Henricksen’s case notes that the Bureau had faxed over. “Looks like Henricksen was on his way to that conclusion himself as well. He has some vague notes about possible sexual trauma in his youth at the hands of the father, and has a few articles about brainwashing named in the margins. But these are all dated about three months before his death, so I’m unclear what his operating theory was when he died—what approach he used when he spoke to Winchester last.”

“So basically, the kid’s been brainwashed to think that some people are monsters and it’s his job to kill ‘em.” Captain Robert summarized succinctly from the far side of the room.

“That’s the current theory, yes,” Hotch agreed. “I think it’s time we go back in and talk to Mr. Winchester. Find out what happened in Colorado and what he’s been up to for the past year.”

“Hotch, I think I should observe this go-round,” Rossi said. “He’s already been able to distract me once, if I go in, we’re not going to get anywhere. Take Prentiss with you.”

A dark smile spread across Prentiss’s face. Hotch was glad for her enthusiasm, if slightly perturbed by her predatory expression.

Rossi turned to Morgan and Reid, both of whom looked slightly disappointed. “Reid, you’re injured — there’s no way we’re letting you and Hotch in there together. He’s managed to escape police custody too many times for me to be certain he’s secure. Winchester thinks he’s something of a ladies man, maybe Prentiss will have better luck getting a reaction.”

Morgan and Reid nodded reluctantly, but Prentiss didn’t roll her eyes as she usually did whenever Rossi mentioned anything to do with her “feminine wiles.” Hotch made a mental note to schedule Rossi for the next available Sexual Harassment seminar.

Hotch turned to Captain Robert. “Captain, can we borrow your video camera again? I’d like to tape this interview if possible.” Pivoting slightly on his left heel, he addressed Morgan and Rossi next. “I want you both to check out nearby motels. If Sam Winchester is alive, there’s a strong possibility he’s hiding out in the area. It can’t hurt to check.”

“JJ, Reid — I want you to get in contact with the rest of Henricksen’s lists. Tell them we know about Winchester’s delusions. Ask them for everything he talked about, no matter how odd. Ask them if they remember anything he said about previous towns they’d visited. Given that the mother died in 1983, it’s possible the family’s killed many more people than we initially thought.” Hotch finished, and dismissed his team with a gruff, “Let’s get to work.”

* * * * * *

Dean Winchester was tapping rhythmically against the metal table when Hotch and Prentiss entered the room. “What happened to the old dude with good musical taste?” he asked as the two agents seated themselves across the table.

“He’s busy,” Prentiss told him. She tilted her head to the side and regarded the suspect coolly. “What, you don’t like the switch?”

Winchester had a lazy grin on his face. “I gotta say, you are much nicer on the eyes Agent?” his voice trailed off curiously.

“I have a few questions for you about your childhood,” Hotch broke in, drawing Winchester’s attention back to himself.

Winchester’s face immediately went blank and he refused to answer.

“We know that you had a nomadic childhood after the death of your mother. From what we can tell, your father moved you and Sam around the country every couple of months. That couldn’t have been easy as a child. Hard to make friends that way.”

“It was fine,” Winchester replied tersely.

“Why did you move around so much?” Hotch pressed, hoping his questions might break something loose. “Did you father ever really give you an answer? Or did he just tell you not to ask questions?”

“A lot of men are not cut out to be single fathers — some just snap. It’s a sad fact of life. But you’re an adult now, you don’t have to be afraid of him, or protect him, anymore.”

Winchester frowned, apparently hearing Hotch’s implicit accusation of sexual abuse and finding it disgusting judging by the increasingly revolted look on his face. After a moment his head rose, his smug grin back in place. Ignoring Hotch completely, he turned to Prentiss and asked, “So are you here as eye candy? I mean, you’re doing a pretty good at that—though if you’d unbutton a couple more buttons I think your performance reviews would show some improvement.”

Prentiss smiled fixedly. “My name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss,” she ground out, jaws clenched to avoid police brutality. “I would like to talk to you about what happened to those women in St. Louis.”

“Why don’t we talk about something else? Seen any good movies recently?” Winchester asked with a grin.

“Were you this charming when you met Rebecca Warren?” Prentiss asked. She continued accusingly, “When she shot you down, did you get angry, decide to get even? Maybe slice her up a bit to show her who’s the boss?”

Winchester grin slipped at Prentiss’ first reply, and disappeared entirely by the end of Prentiss’ question. He crossed his arms as much as the chain holding him to the table would allow. “I told you, I didn’t kill those women. I told Henricksen that too. Plus those cops in Baltimore. And those cops in Arkansas.” Winchester grew increasingly agitated. “Look, have you even asked her if I did it? She’ll tell you it wasn’t me.”

“You know, we saw your confession from Baltimore,” Hotch replied conversationally. “Apparently, a monster did it. With an explanation like that, it is a mystery why people don’t just take you at your word.”

Winchester sighed, “You’ve really got to work on that air quotes problem of yours. You and Agent Scully over there should remember you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“We’ll take that into consideration,” Prentiss responded. “You have to admit, though, a shape shifter murdered those women in St. Louis? A bloodthirsty ghost killed that couple in Baltimore? That’s a lot for us to take on faith alone.”

“Ok, first off, you know that Detective Sheridan killed those people in Baltimore,” Winchester’s large shoulders were tensing. “We thought it was ghost, but it turned out she was just trying to warn everyone around him—not kill ‘em.”

“Secondly, fuck off,” Winchester smiled bitterly. “You’ve already made up your minds about me. No matter what I say, you’ve decided I’m some crazy psycho.”

“Why do you say that?” Prentiss asked, leaning forward earnestly.

Winchester looked at her for a long moment. “You said it yourself, you’re not going to take anything I say on faith alone. People believe what they see. And most cops don’t care to see anything beyond pastries and the end of their shift.”

“We’re not cops,” Hotch interrupted, not allowing Prentiss to respond. “We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, our job is to provide assistance to local cops through criminal investigative analysis. We look at crimes from a behavioral and investigative perspective.”

“You investigate serial offenders,” Winchester summarized. At Hotch’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “I speak bureaucratese too, you know?”

“And your fancy mission statement isn’t really helping your cause. It means you’re looking at me as a serial killer. Meaning you aren’t going to listen to a single thing that doesn’t slot me into one of those tidy labels you folks have such a hard-on for.”

“You have a kid, right?” he asked, looking at Hotch. When Hotch tried to protest, Dean ignored him, “Of course you do, it’s written all over your face. Does your kid ever ask you about the monsters under his bed or in his closet?”

Nonplussed, Hotch answered, “That’s not relevant, we’re here to talk about St. Louis.”

Winchester leaned back, “You shouldn’t tell him they’re not real and he’s safe in his bed. Those fuckers will eat him without a moment’s hesitation, and then wear his meat suit while killing you with a smile on their faces. I’m not sure how to make this any clearer to you — monsters are real. All that shit you were afraid of as a kid? Is just waiting for the right opportunity.”

“So, you and your family hunt the things that go bump in the night?” Prentiss asked. “You’re just trying to save people?”

“Who else is going to do it?”

* * * * * *

“Office of omniscience, who thinks themselves worthy?” a perky voice answered her ringing phone.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Reid asked wryly. “By definition, you should know who is calling and what about?”

“Oh my junior G-man, but I do know what you’re calling about,” Garcia replied. “Plus my caller-ID has mad skills, but I know how you love a bad turn of phrase.”

“Did you find anything on John Winchester?” Reid pressed.

“Nothing’s popped up since the last time you asked,” Garcia replied slightly testily. “Honestly? I don’t see this lack of paper trail too often—usually in those ‘I’m going to live off-the-land and off-the-grid’ crazy types you find out in the backcountry. There are some outstanding warrants for his arrest from the early-nineties, but nothing since then.”

“Hmmm,” Reid replied distractedly.

“Is that a ‘Thanks Garcia for the fabulous information that’s leading to a theory to catch the crazy yet studly serial killer’ or ‘Am I wearing clean underwear’ sound?” Garcia asked curiously when no further conversation followed.

“It’s a ‘What made John Winchester want to disappear so completely and what did he tell his sons about it?’ sound,” Reid replied distantly. “Thanks Garcia.”

* * * * * *

“Rossi, man,” Morgan began tiredly, “we’ve checked out fifteen motels along this highway—each filthier than the last—don’t you think it’s time to call it a night?”

“Just a few more, unless you’re too worried about getting your beauty sleep?” Rossi teased.

Scowling, Morgan opened the door to the Manners Motor Home and Inn and was unsurprised to see yet another bored twenty-something manning the front desk. He was unkempt—two or three days of stubble lined a weak jaw and he was seriously overdue for a haircut—but at least he acknowledged the door’s chime as they entered the dingy office. After visiting fifteen of Cape Girardeau County’s finest fleabag motels, Morgan had lowered expectations of customer service.

“By the hour or for the night?” the man asked, reaching a thin arm behind him vaguely in the direction of the room keys.

“FBI, sir. Have you seen this man?” Morgan pushed the glossy mugshot across the desk. “His name is Sam Winchester and he’s wanted as an accomplice for murder. He probably would have come to the area in the last week or so.”

The man — Craig, if the nameplate was correct — looked disinterestedly at the photograph in front of him. After a moment, he opened the orange ledger to his left and started scrolling down the names. “Sorry, no Sam Winchester checked in. No Winchester of any name here.”

“He might be using an alias, are you sure you haven’t seen him?” Rossi asked, same as he had in the previous fifteen motels. He already knew the answer, but had to make sure.

“Nope,” replied Craig as he reached down and pulled out a magazine. “Haven’t seen ‘im.”

“Thanks anyway,” Morgan answered. As he walked out the door he remarked to Rossi, “Maybe Sam is dead and Dean is acting on his own. No way a dude that tall would pass unnoticed everywhere.”

“Wait!”

Morgan and Rossi turned in time to see Craig rush out the door. “Why didn’t you say you were looking for two guys? That face still doesn’t look familiar, but two big guys checked into a suite a couple days ago. Paid for the week upfront.”

Rossi tried not to get his hopes up. “Can you give us a description? Anything at all?”

“I didn’t really pay too much attention to be honest. They’re both big guys, shorter one is probably about your height.” He said, gesturing towards Morgan with his left hand. “The other guy’s got a good three, four inches on him. Both white guys, younger looking — probably in their mid to late twenties.”

“Do you know why they’re in the area?” Morgan asked.

“Didn’t ask,” Craig replied. “Lemme get their names.” He walked back into the front desk and pulled out the orange ledger once again. “The name on the book is Carl Palmer and guest.”

“Thanks.” Rossi turned to Morgan. “Think we should pay “and guest” a visit?”

“It’s the only sociable thing to do,” Morgan replied as they walked through the parking lot towards room 15. “We’re in the neighborhood, it’d be plain rude not to stop by.”

* * * * * *

“How’s the list going Spence?” JJ asked, hoping for some distraction from the tinny muzak playing in her right ear. For the third time this evening she had been placed on hold. She supposed she should be grateful that the Warren family had sprung for something to distract her in the interim, but she had a sneaking suspicion that “I’ve Got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates” would be playing in her head for the rest of the night.

Across the room Reid was swallowing yet another donut he had liberated from the break room. He was lucky that Gloria, the dispatch officer who intimidated Morgan *and* Rossi away from her homemade pastries that she brought “for the local boys only”, thought he was the cutest thing on one-and-a-half legs and could do with some fattening up. So far Reid seemed to be doing his best to test the limits of his freakish metabolism. Life was unfair, JJ thought to herself as she poked at her stomach, still slightly soft from those stubborn five pounds.

After a large gulp, Reid replied, “I’m currently waiting for Mara Daniels. I talked to the Warden at Green River County Detention Center, Deacon Hawken. He says he only talked to the Winchesters once—as they were escaping. Apparently they got the drop on him. As he explained to Henricksen, both brothers had a fairly standard day—ate breakfast, had recreation time, got a visit from their lawyer — then managed to escape.”

“What did they talk about with the lawyer?” JJ asked, absently doodling on her legal pad. Hold time was now up to fifteen minutes and the muzak had already looped once.

“She says they didn’t look guilty when they arrived. She didn’t exactly want to talk to me, apparently Henricksen threatened to charge her for aiding and abetting when she wouldn’t tell him the details of her conversation with her clients,” Reid grimaced.

JJ nodded sympathetically, knowing all too well the tricky process of soothing bruised egos from encounters with overzealous FBI agents.

“Anyways, since she ended up telling Henricksen, she shared with me. Apparently she met with Dean who asked her to research a nurse who had died in the prison in the seventies, Beverly Glockner.” Reid paused a moment to write a quick note. “Apparently they also wanted to know where Glockner was buried.”

“That’s weird,” JJ replied, now on second page of doodles. “Did they ever contact her after their escape?”

“Nope. What’s more, she seems pretty convinced they’re not bad men. Said she’s seen false innocence before, and they weren’t faking. Apparently Dean got quite upset when she called them monsters.”

Before JJ could respond, a voice finally answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Rebecca Warren?” JJ asked, hoping desperately she had gotten through to the correct person. Interviewing the surviving witness of the St. Louis murders would hopefully provide the team with new details into the inner workings of Dean Winchester. After hearing a soft yes, she continued. “This is Special Agent Jennifer Jareau with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I was hoping to talk to you about Dean Winchester and the events of October 2005?”

The voice on the other end of the phone sighed. “Look, I already told Agent Henricksen everything. Why do I have to go through this again? Can’t you just talk to him?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but Agent Henricksen died last year and his case notes are incomplete. We were hoping you could tell us anything you remember about Dean Winchester. We have him in custody now, the more information you provide, the better a chance we’ll have of getting a confession.” JJ hated this part of her job—it was one thing to ask a witness to repeat her story after her attack, it was another to continuously rip off the bandage of a half healed wound.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry to hear about Agent Henricksen. But Dean Winchester didn’t attack me or kill Zach’s girlfriend. I know I said that at the time, but I’d only met him once when he and Sam came to visit and the dead guy looked so much like him.”

JJ was confused. “I’m sorry, Zach is?”

“Wow, you really do have incomplete notes, don’t you? Zach is my brother. In October the St. Louis police accused him of murdering his girlfriend, Emily—the same way I was attacked.” She started speaking more rapidly, as if a dam had opened and she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “Only Zach was with me the night it happened. So I emailed Sam, he was going to be a lawyer and I thought he might be able to help. He was on a road trip with his brother at the time, trying to get past Jess’s death.” She paused to explain, “Jess was Sam’s girlfriend. She died in a fire his senior year. She was a really wonderful girl.”

“Anyway, while they’re trying to figure out how a guy can be in two places at once, the creep found me.” Her voice trembles. “They find him torturing me, but he escaped and is found dead later. They ask me to ID and he looked so much like Dean that that’s the name I blurted out. It was only a couple hours after I’d been... hurt when they asked me to look at the body.”

“So you’re saying the man who tortured you wasn’t Dean Winchester?” JJ asked curiously. At this question, Reid started making his way across the room to listen in better.

“I told the St. Louis Police, I told Henricksen, and now I’m telling you—Dean Winchester did not hurt me. There’s no way he killed Emily, he and Sam were in New Mexico at the time.” Rebecca Warren was biting off each word. “I doubt you’ll believe me either though. The FBI always covers its own ass.”

JJ was at a loss for words. Rebecca hadn’t been held captive long enough for Stockholm syndrome to set in, and her post-abduction career certainly showed she was mentally stable. “Thank you for your time. I’ll certainly pass everything you said on to the rest of the agents working this case.”

Rebecca Warren wasn’t quite finished. “You said you had Dean in custody, what about Sam? Do you know if he’s all right?”

* * * * * *

Morgan pounded on the door several times to no answer. Craig, who had followed them from the office, offered them the room key. Rossi unfastened his holster and drew his Springfield TRP up, gesturing with his left hand for Morgan to open the door.

“FBI! We just want to talk Mr. Palmer,” Rossi said as Morgan pushed open the door. At first glance the room looked empty. Morgan quickly cleared the bedroom, there wasn’t any way a man of Sam Winchester’s height could be hiding. That left the small bathroom. Rossi entered slowly, checking the shower for form’s sake but it too was abandoned. However, there was a cool breeze against his face. An open window. Rossi turned and shouted, “Morgan, check around back! The window!”

Aside from a gas station and diner down the road, the motel was surrounded by prairie grass. A few blackbirds were flying aimlessly overhead, difficult to see against the brilliant red light of the setting sun. Near the back of the motel some of the grass had been broken down and flattened, but it was unclear to Rossi how recently. If Samuel Winchester had run, it wasn’t clear where to. And given his stature and youth, Rossi wasn’t optimistic about their chances of catching up to him.

When Morgan moved to look around in the grass Rossi grabbed his shoulder. “Not a good idea Morgan. For all we know, he could be hiding in there just waiting for us. Call Hotch, tell him what we’ve found. I’m going to go take a better look at the room.”

He found Craig peering interestedly into the room from the doorframe, clearly debating with himself about entering for a better look. “Craig, right?” He asked, “Thanks for opening the room for us. We’re going to be taking a look around. When the Jackson PD arrive, if you could tell them everything you remember about the two men that would really help us out. These two men are killers—the more we know about them, the faster we’ll catch ‘em.”

Rossi re-entered the dingy room, absently turning on the lights as he started to take a slow loop around the perimeter. There were two twin beds shoved into opposite corners of the southern wall. Each showed signs of recent usage. Unless Dean Winchester liked to alternate beds, it was looking likely that the younger Winchester brother was alive—and more importantly, in the area.

There were pieces of white paper scattered across the floor. Rossi skimmed the text quickly; it looked like one of the Winchester boys was interested in local history. There were six newspaper articles from the last twenty years, each detailing home fires in Cape Girardeau County. He called out to Morgan, who was examining the desk, and passed him the copies. “Take a look at these. Any idea why they’re so interested in these fires?”

“Weird.” Morgan started to scan the articles, hoping for some clue to explain why the brothers popped up on the FBI radar after so long. Halfway through the first article, he said, “I think he had a bit of warning we were coming. There are only a few toiletries in the bathroom, nothing that can’t be replaced easily enough. No duffle bags, or luggage of any kind in the room. And while they left their paperwork across the floor, there’s really nothing personal here at all.”

“They didn’t clear the trash though,” Rossi announced triumphantly. “I’ve got a list here. Looks like a bunch of names and physical areas. At the bottom, one of them circled Trail of Tears Park.”

Rossi paused, the name sounding vaguely familiar. “I’ve heard this name before.”

“Having a senior moment?” Morgan teased, careful to stand out of arm’s reach. Rossi might be old, but he still packed one hell of a punch when he wanted. “I’m going to call in to update JJ and get some uniforms over here.”

Rossi still managed to cuff him on the back of his head when he looked away to pull out his phone, but that seemed to satisfy his desire for revenge. He continued to stare at the documents in front of him.

“JJ, it’s Morgan. Rossi and I found the hotel. Looks like both —”

“Uniforms!” Rossi cried out suddenly, startling Morgan so much that he almost dropped his phone. “Morgan, get in the car, we’ve got to move.”

“— Sorry! Rossi just freaked out on me for a minute,” Morgan explained to the confused JJ. “We’re apparently going on a road trip. Can you send some officers over to the Manners Motor Home? It’s off Route 34. We think that’s where they were based. Yeah, looks like it was occupied by two people.”

Morgan opened the door and barely had time to buckle his seatbelt before Rossi peeled out of the parking lot and onto the road. “Hold on JJ,” he said into the phone. He turned and looked at his coworker curiously. “Mind telling me where we’re going?”

“At the station, Robert said that he was sending some officers over to the Trail of Tears State Park because of some recent vandalism,” Rossi explained as he cut off a silver station wagon. “And a missing hiker.”

“So you think Sam Winchester has something to do with that?” Morgan asked, and then repeated Rossi’s theory to JJ.

“It’s isolated, private—not a bad place to hunt for monsters,” Rossi theorized, taking a sudden turn to get onto the highway.

“But why would Dean Winchester allow himself to be picked up by the police?” Morgan questioned.

“Remorse? Maybe he subconsciously wants to be stopped?” Rossi suggested. “Ask JJ to get Prentiss out of interrogation. She’s good in the woods—I want her to join us at the park.”

Morgan repeated Rossi’s request to JJ, who promised that Prentiss would meet them at the park entrance. Morgan hung up after thanking the liaison. He turned to Rossi. “All right man, I’ve got a boatload of questions, most of which probably won’t be answered until we find and talk to Sam Winchester. But first things first.”

“Yes?” prompted Rossi.

“How the hell do you know the route to this park?” Morgan demanded.

* * * * * *

Throughout the course of JJ’s conversation with Morgan, Reid had moved so close that JJ was considering switching to speakerphone to avoid ending up sharing the receiver. There were few officers in the building, but JJ wanted to avoid any and all acts that reinforced local perception of her and Reid as the lightweights of the team. Plus Reid smelled like glazed donuts and she didn’t need that temptation tonight. Luckily Morgan hung up before she had to make a decision one way or another.

“Why the park?” she asked Reid.

“The Trail of Tears State Park was established in the 1957 as a memorial to the Cherokee Native Americans that died on the Trail of Tears in 1831. Over 4,000 of the 15,000 Cherokee relocated died on the trail. The park has...” Reid paused, his eyes looking upward as he mentally skimmed the exhaustive knowledge contained beneath his messy hair. “Yes…it has over 3,400 acres and is right on the Mississippi River that divides Illinois and Missouri. He’d have a bevy of good dump sites with a relatively low chance of discovery given the limited number of law enforcement officers on-site.”

“Can you go through the file again and see if you can find any mention of activity in the woods? It seems like the majority of Henricksen’s investigations were in urban areas, or at least within towns,” JJ asked as she stood up. “I’m going to get Prentiss from interrogation.”

Knocking sharply two times, JJ stuck her head into the interrogation room. It looked like she had interrupted in a downtime, lucky for her, and at Hotch’s glare, she quickly made an excuse about needing Prentiss immediately.

As Prentiss made her way to the door, the suspect yelled out, “Why not switch places? Agent Stick-Up-His-Ass can leave, and you can stay? It’d be like Three’s Company, only no one has to play gay!”

Prentiss and JJ shared a rueful grin as they walked down the hallway. “What’s going on?” Prentiss asked.

“Rossi and Morgan called. They found a lead—they’re pretty sure Sam Winchester is alive, in the area, and possibly killing hikers in the Trail of Tears State Park. Rossi wants you to meet him there, it should take you about half an hour driving,” JJ responded briskly, not wanting take up time that could be used catching a killer on the loose.

“Great. We spend our entire time profiling the older brother in our custody, and now we have the younger one running around and we’ve got what, his college transcript?” Prentiss replied sarcastically.

“As it turns out, Sam Winchester was a gifted student. Full ride scholarship to Stanford undergraduate and was being considered for a full scholarship to Stanford Law School,” Reid informed her, having overheard her last comment. It didn’t pass anyone’s attention that he said “Stanford” rather disdainfully.

He continued, “Henricksen theorized he was the submissive personality of the pair. He described him as Bonnie to Dean’s Clyde in his case notes. Since they’ve been on the FBI’s radar, whenever one’s showed up, the other hasn’t been far behind.”

Prentiss nodded then pulled out her cell phone. “Rossi? It’s Prentiss.” She listened intently, occasionally responding with “yes” or “no.” After a moment she said, “JJ says it’ll take half an hour to get there.”

After one more “yes” and a quick glance at her coworkers, Prentiss started to expound on her interrogation with Dean Winchester, ending with, “Well sir, he doesn’t seem to like Hotch that much, and while I’m not his best friend on the planet he at least tries to hit on me. It’s a start at least.”

She paused for a moment, “No, that makes sense. Do you want me to send JJ?” She nodded at Rossi’s response and hung up. At Reid and JJ’s quizzical looks, she explained. “I’m making headway with Winchester. It doesn’t make sense to up and leave in the middle. Rossi said he’d appreciate the help, JJ. Sorry to volunteer you, but there’s no one else cleared for active duty on the team right now.”

JJ looked chagrined for a moment, then responded. “No problem. Good thing I brought my boots on this trip.” She picked up her bag, and after a moment of consideration, a copy of Henricksen’s case files. “Never know when this might come in handy!” She remarked.

As JJ left, Prentiss turned to Reid and asked, “You mind doing some research for me real quick?” At his nod, she continued, “It seems like his father is a weak point. Would you mind calling Garcia and seeing if you two can get a better handle on him. I’m guessing he’s still alive out there — if you could find him, we’d be doing the world a service.”

* * * * * *

Rossi flipped his cell phone closed. “Prentiss said she’ll meet us at the visitors center. On paper, it’ll take her about a half-hour to drive here, so we should meet up with her in about twenty minutes.”

Morgan nodded. “That should give us some time to get a lay of the land and start interviewing Park Rangers. They should be able to give us a more accurate timeline. It’s possible they switched hotel rooms, no real telling how long they’ve been in the area.”

“I’m going to call the Park Rangers,” Morgan continued. “But it looks like I’m down to two bars; we go too much further and we might lose service all together.”

* * * * * *

Prentiss returned to the interrogation room, apparently finished with whatever business that prompted JJ to interrupt them. Hotch was relieved, in the few minutes he had been left alone with Winchester, the man had shut down—refusing to answer even the most basic questions. Hotch had been impressed at the rapport his agent was developing with their suspect, but the downside of their burgeoning relationship had made itself quite clear in his lack of progress during her absence. While Winchester apparently didn’t feel the need to call attention to her disbelief, he seemed unable to forgive Hotch for questioning his father.

Winchester responded to Prentiss openly, her gentle questions prying more personal information than their file contained. Based on the information they had gained so far, Hotch was betting his agent would be moving on to examining Winchester’s specific delusions soon.

Prentiss’ next question confirmed his hunch.

“So besides unfriendly ghosts, what do you hunt?” Prentiss asked Winchester, appearing genuinely curious. Prentiss had pitched her voice low and soft so that Winchester had to strain to fully hear her, forcing him to pay close attention.

“Evil things—werewolves, wendigos, skin walkers, black dogs, ghouls, spirits, ladies in white, shrigas, witches, vampires, zombies. Pretty much any freaky thing you’ve heard of in a story, it’s kickin’ around somewhere causing trouble.” Winchester paused from his odd laundry list of the supernatural. “And demons, can’t forget those.”

“Demons?” Prentiss questioned. She leaned forward and asked the chained man, “Are we talking half-goat men with horns or Linda Blair?”

Winchester sat up straight at her interest. “More Linda Blair than goat-man, haven’t seen those yet. Demons look like black smoke when they’re on earth until they shove themselves down your throat and take over your body.”

Hotch took a note on this aspect of Winchester’s belief system. He had hoped to have the interview taped, but the station’s audio-visual equipment had shorted out at the end of the Davis interview and they hadn’t had the opportunity to replace it before Winchester was brought in. Winchester clearly deeply believed there were demons walking the earth, and that it was his job to rid the world of them.

The question remained, however, if Winchester had suffered a psychotic break and was acting as a visionary killer, or if he had been raised with the belief system and used it as rational for his murderous urges. The time he had taken with each woman in St. Louis certainly indicated a deep-seated rage. Perhaps Morgan’s theory would be supported.

Prentiss continued to press Winchester about his victims. “When you find a demon, how do you get rid of it? Is there some kind of magic gun or knife?”

Winchester frowned briefly before answering. “Demons are tough sons of bitches to kill. Most of the time, the best you can hope for is to know they’re coming ahead of time and set up a trap. Then you do an exorcism rite and they go back down to Hell.”

Prentiss considered Winchester’s answer. “But you said they can possess people. How would you know if someone is a demon?”

Winchester smiled grimly. “We’ve had a big problem with demons lately. There are a couple ways of finding out if someone’s possessed. I have my favorites though.” Before he could finish, Winchester picked up the glass of water he had been playing with since arriving in the station and threw it at the FBI agents across the table.

Hotch was going to kill the officer who had supposedly cleared Winchester. As Hotch wiped the water from his eyes, he heard a dissonant high-pitched keening sound on his left. He turned and looked at his partner.

Prentiss’ face was smoking. And her eyes had turned black.

Hotch blinked.

Winchester started chanting quickly. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus , omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio, et secta diabolica.”

Prentiss, her eyes still pitch black, laughed. “Oh Dean, this is familiar. But as I told you last time, I’ve learned a few new tricks.” At his gape-jawed expression, she laughed cheerfully. “Aw, didn’t expect that not to work did you? You never were much of a planner. I’ve missed our little get togethers back home. I’m sure you have too.”

“Prentiss, what is going on?” asked Hotch stupidly, his mind unable to follow this odd turn of events. Prentiss knew Winchester? Why hadn’t she mentioned this? What had Winchester thrown to elicit such a reaction from Prentiss? “Prentiss, we’re going outside, now. This interview is over.”

Hotch stood up, but both Winchester and Prentiss ignored him. Winchester continued his strange chant while Prentiss continued to glare from across the table.

Suddenly, Prentiss leapt over the table and grabbed Winchester’s throat with one hand, abruptly cutting off the flow of Latin. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can find some way of helping you remember.”

She tilted his head slowly from side to side, then rapidly punched him across his face. “Now that’s looking familiar already.” Prentiss’s mouth moved into a wide smile.

“So who’s in there?” Winchester wheezed, spitting blood to his right. Prentiss had split his lip and deep bruises were beginning to form on both cheekbones. “Thought I’d killed all of my regulars.”

“Always the idiot Dean. Maybe this is why Daddy liked Sam best. You can never keep a fact straight in that pretty little head of yours,” she sneered before punching him again.

Winchester’s voice was hard and tight, “Meg.”

* * * * * *

“JJ!” shouted Rossi. “What are you doing here?”

The blonde agent hadn’t turned off the rented black SUV before Rossi ambushed her. The trip hadn’t been fun at this late hour—not only was the road poorly marked, but when she called Will to update him on the situation Henry had been awake and fussy. She was missing her baby’s first tooth due to her team leader’s uncompromising work ethic.

JJ appreciated that the Jackson Police had called them in place of the regional FBI office, bringing in one of the nation’s most wanted murderers would only help the unit. But sometimes she just wanted a skip day.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” she finally responded. “Prentiss was forming a good relationship with the suspect, so you asked me to come.”

At Rossi’s blank look, she stopped.

“She told me she was making some headway, yeah. But we have Dean Winchester in custody; our focus has to be on capturing Sam Winchester now. I told her that, she agreed, and I said I’d see her in half an hour,” Rossi explained frowning.

Morgan walked up to the pair standing in the parking lot. “JJ? What are you doing here?”

“There’s been some kind of mix up, hold on,” JJ said as she opened her purse. “I’m going to call the station.”

“Don’t bother,” Morgan responded. “No service in the area. Found that out the hard way when I tried to call ahead to the Ranger Station.”

“No service? Great.” JJ looked around the dark parking lot as if hoping to find a cell phone tower in the small area lit by her SUV’s headlights. “Weren’t we going to meet up with Officer Campbell?”

“We found her car in the staff parking lot, about three quarters of a mile west,” Morgan gestured vaguely to his right. “However, she wasn’t there, we can’t raise her on the radio and the Park Ranger seems to be out as well.”

“Do we know who Campbell was supposed to meet?” JJ asked.

“No, but the sign at the Ranger Station said that Ranger Joan Ross is on duty tonight.” Morgan replied.

“JJ,” Rossi asked, “did you bring a copy of the case file with you?”

“Of course, why?” JJ asked as she went through her briefcase in the SUV.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he replied. He started to thumb through the file. “Officer Campbell is a petite brunette in her mid-twenties, right?”

“She’s not that short, but yes,” JJ responded.

Rossi pulled out two photographs. “So were the victims in St. Louis, ” he declared solemnly.

Morgan cursed quietly. “Maybe we’ve been investigating the wrong Winchester,” he suggested quietly.

“Or maybe Sam picks them out for Dean to torture and kill,” Rossi countered.

JJ interrupted the brainstorming, “Guys, I talked to Becky Warren, the surviving victim from St. Louis, earlier this evening and she’s pretty adamant that Dean Winchester wasn’t the one to hurt her.”

“That’s interesting,” Morgan said as he started to pace, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. “But honestly? At this point, what’s important is the fact that we have two women possibly missing and Sam Winchester is most likely in the area.”

“Do you want me to drive until I can get a signal to call for backup?” JJ asked. “I’ll be able to get to the bottom of the situation with Prentiss at the same time.”

“Sounds good,” Rossi agreed. “Morgan and I will take a look around the perimeter. Arrange for backup to meet us here—we won’t go far.”

Gunshots broke the still night air before JJ could agree. Morgan and Rossi didn’t pause before pulling their service weapons and running into the woods. JJ followed a half-pace behind the two men, having paused to drop her bag and pull the Glock 17 from her holster. She gave a brief moment of thanks that she had changed to flats for the drive and she started running up the rocky trail.

Three more bursts. A shrill scream tore through the air

Rossi, Morgan, and JJ ran faster praying they weren’t too late. They came to an open clearing where a very tall man was outlined by the light of the full moon. He was holding a sawed-off shotgun. There was a dark shape in front of him.

It wasn’t moving.

“Sam Winchester!” Rossi yelled, training his gun on the young man. “Don’t move! FBI! Federal Agents!”

“Put the gun down,” Morgan shouted. “Put, the gun, DOWN!”

Though it was too dark to see his face clearly from across the clearly, JJ still had to suppress a shudder when he raised his head slowly. It looked like he might have been smiling.

* * * * * *

Hotch was not having a good day. Not only had he been pulled back into the Jackson Police Office after closing a long, difficult case to interrogate a captured felon, but now said felon was being choked to death by one of his agents. Whose eyes had abruptly turned black. And Winchester apparently believed her name was “Meg.”

And Hotch was watching his agent, a friend of his, beat the hell out of a man he was supposed to protect inside these walls.

Prentiss had not reacted well to the Meg comment. “You stupid little monkey! My name,” she punched Winchester with a left hook in the face, “is not,” a slap to the opposite cheek, “MEG!”

Paralysis broken, Hotch moved to pull Prentiss off of Winchester. “Prentiss! What the hell do you think you’re doing! Get off the suspect!” Despite bringing almost all his weight to bear on her, the female agent wasn’t moving. If anything, she increased her grip on Winchester’s windpipe—Winchester’s lips were beginning to turn a worrisome shade.

Her grip never slackening, she turned and faced him. “Aaron Hotchner…now aren’t you an interesting fellow. Did you know that your agents call you the mom? Of course, a single mother now—drove Gideon away, drove your wife away and abandoned your son in a double play, and let’s not forget the little screw up that landed you on desk duty.” Prentiss’s face twisted into a parody of a smile. “Do you really think any of them believe that you got a lucky shot off on Foyet?”

Hotch froze. “Emily, you need to stop this right now.” He called on every minute of his hostage negotiation training and experience to keep his voice steady and calm. “You need to let Winchester go—he needs to breathe, Emily.”

Prentiss looked at him pityingly. “Wow Aaron, that was calm and collected—first page of HNT’s textbook. I wonder though, how’s the next step going to work, hmmm? What are you going to give me to seem credible?”

She loosened her grip for a moment. As Winchester desperately choked for air, she curled her manicured fingers around his throat once more. “You see, I just want him to suffer horribly for a very, very long time. Now that he and his idiot brother let the Bright One out, life’s just been no fun. And I’m a girl that likes her fun.”

She picked up Winchester, the links on his ankle and wrist cuffs snapping like cheap plastic, and held him by his neck so that his toes brushed the ground. “You know why, asshole? THE FUCKING ANGELS KEEP CRASHING THE PARTY!”

“With the fucking seals broken, not only do we get to come party in this stupid mud pit, but they do too. And let me tell you, they are a lot better than you at finding evil.” She looked at Hotch consideringly for a moment and then turned back to Winchester. “A lot better at not getting caught too.”

She leaned back for a moment, then grabbed Hotch’s arm and threw him across the room. A second later, Winchester joined him, denting the door from the force of her throw. She stalked towards them slowly.

It was time to reconsider their arms policy when interrogating prisoners. Having his pistol on hand would have been very useful, Hotch though, as he mentally ran through his options. It was time to cut his losses. He was unarmed, not physically at his best, and his coworker looked ready to go through him to kill the suspect.

Hotch reached around Winchester’s limp body, the man sluggishly waving his arms, and grabbed the doorknob. As the door opened, he started dragging Winchester through the metal frame. Prentiss walked slowly around the table, her boot heels clacking on the linoleum floor.

She stopped abruptly. Black eyes flashing, she tried to take another step towards the slowly retreating pair, but was unable to move. She pounded her fists against the air; Hotch was only slightly surprised at this point to see them bounce against bright light.

Winchester barked out a quick laugh before coughing helplessly for a long moment. ”As I said, if you know they’re coming best thing to do is make a trap.” He pulled out a red sharpie from his pocket and used it to point to up.

Hotch could see a circular design crudely drawn on the ceiling. Turning his attention back to his suspect, Hotch propped Winchester against the hallway wall and squat down besides him to check the extent of his injuries.

“You know Meg, or whatever the hell you’re calling yourself today, sometimes the old tricks work just fine.” Winchester managed a smug grin around his developing bruises.

“How the hell did you know I was here?” Prentiss screamed as she continued to pound against some sort of invisible barrier. “You don’t notice for a week when your brother’s been possessed, but I’m in this meat suit for twenty minutes and now you’re Sherlock Holmes?”

Winchester ignored Prentiss and leaned back to address Hotch, “She’s stuck in there for the time being. Any chance of getting me some ice?”

“I’m not leaving my agent, Winchester,” Hotch snapped. “And what the hell is going on? What did you do to Prentiss?”

Winchester rolled his eyes, “How the hell do you guys ever solve a crime? You’re all too busy examining your boss’ ass to do anything productive — say, like listen to people.” He shook his head slowly, then seemed to regret it.

“Look, I appreciate that you think that’s your friend in there. But that,” he pointed through the open doorway, “is not your agent. Not really. That’s a demon wearing her face. I’ve run into this one a few times before, she was Meg last time I met her, and she’s not exactly good news.”

“Hotch, I’m scared,” Prentiss called out, her voice trembling. She was pacing around the table, which had miraculously stayed upright through the last frantic minutes. Her eyes were back to their normal expressive brown irises and she was starting to straighten her clothing. “What’s going on?”

“Prentiss…” Hotch started.

Winchester interrupted brusquely. “Listen to me! That is not Agent Prentiss.” He turned and looked directly at the woman, “Christo.”

Prentiss’s eyes flared black for a moment before returning to normal.

“Last time I checked FBI agents didn’t do that,” Winchester remarked easily, as if accusing someone of demonic possession was an everyday occurrence. Though given his claims of monster hunting, perhaps it was.

Winchester started to lecture, “Most demonic possession can be revealed through the Latin word for Christ or exposure to holy water. You’ve seen both now.”

Reid appeared suddenly, slightly out of breath from trying to run with crutches. He had heard the commotion from down the hall and made a beeline for the interrogation room. Finding Hotch kneeling on the floor over their unsecured suspect, who had clearly been beaten recently, Reid drew his revolver and pointed it at Winchester. “Don’t move!”

Reid finally caught sight of Prentiss, still pacing a circle around the table inside the interrogation room. It was a mess—bloodstains on the walls, all three chairs overturned, and the remains of wrist and ankle restraints on the ground. Bewildered, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t move? Or what, you’re going to fall on me when you try to shoot that thing?” Winchester asked curiously, unconcerned with the gun pointed at his face. He slowly pulled himself to his feet.

Reid kept his revolver trained on the man, but willing to ignore his words for the moment. “Hotch, what is going on?” he asked again.

“Oh, the little drug addict feels left out.” Prentiss cooed, apparently tiring of her pacing. “He’s so cute when he’s pissy! Tell me Spencer, how’s that big brain of yours treating you? Started hearing voices yet? Tell me, do you want a room next to Mommy’s when we have to lock you up?”

Before Reid could respond, Hotch stepped in front of him, blocking Prentiss’s view of the younger man. “Ignore her, she’s not acting like herself.”

“Ignore me? Why Aaron, you cold-hearted bastard.” Prentiss smiled. “We might just get along better than I thought.”

“Long story short, is that you’re friend has been possessed by a demon. Don’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth. She lies,” Winchester explained. “And since seeing is believing for you guys, Christo.”

Prentiss’s eyes turned black. “Would you cut that out,” she complained. “Didn’t your Mommy and Daddy teach you to be polite to a lady? Oh wait, my Daddy killed your Mommy and Daddy.”

“And I killed yours, so I guess we’re just one big happy family, aren’t we?” Winchester replied sweetly.

While both FBI agents reeled from the impromptu confession of homicide Winchester had so casually thrown out, Winchester continued his odd conversation. “Not that it isn’t great to catch up, but what hole did you crawl out of? I thought you were stuck in Hell after that last stunt?”

“Well thanks to your brother, getting up here is easier than seducing a virgin,” Prentiss replied. “By the way Spencer…”

“I’m not a virgin!” he replied indignantly, before blushing furiously.

“Right,” Prentiss replied dubiously, before returning to her conversation with Winchester. “I heard you were in the area, thought I’d be neighborly, drop by, grab a cup of coffee maybe.”

“You do not belong here,” a new voice replied.

Spinning around, Hotch saw a young redheaded woman standing to his left. She was petite, dressed casually in a green khaki jacket and jeans. Where the hell had she come from? “Ma’am, I need you to leave the area immediately. If you’d please move away from the doorframe, I can have Agent Reid escort you to the office.”

“Anna?” asked Winchester hesitantly.

The woman ignored the men in favor of stepping into the room towards Prentiss. Prentiss’s eyes were black again, and she backed away from the newcomer warily. “Get away from me!” she cried.

“You don’t belong here,” the redhead replied.

Prentiss made a sharp motion with her left hand and the table flew across the room. It didn’t faze the redhead, though it dented the concrete walls of the interrogation room. Prentiss waved her hand again, causing the wreaked chairs on the ground to shoot upwards.

The young woman frowned slightly and the chairs swerved around her, leaving her untouched. Hotch wasn’t so lucky as a piece of the metal leg drove into his shoulder. He gasped from the unexpected pain.

Reid scrambled towards his boss and started to put pressure on the wound. Hotch twisted his head to looked behind at his left shoulder; no corresponding metal leg. Not as severe as he had initially imagined. He was never going to be cleared for active duty, he thought distantly as his hands reached to remove the debris.

“Oh no you don’t,” Winchester’s voice muttered softly in his left ear. He had joined Reid’s examination and was ripping at Hotch’s suit jacket to get closer to the wound. “Now be a good little federal agent and do what you do best—shut up and sit still.”

The newcomer continued to walk steadily towards Prentiss, her boots clicking on the linoleum. Prentiss continued to back pedal until she reached the far wall. The room was now empty—she had nothing left to throw at the ethereal figure in front of her.

“I heard your side locked up,” she sneered. “Loyalties on the wrong side, maybe? You know, the Morningstar would be willing to have you—we already have so many of your brothers.”

“They fell—they are no brothers of mine,” Anne replied coldly though her face remained expressionless. “And my loyalties are exactly where they should be, with my father. I promised to obey his orders, not Michael’s or Gabriel’s.”

Anna had finally reached Prentiss. “But I suppose it doesn’t really matter what you say, it’s not like you’ll be around to see the final battle anyway.”

She brought her right hand to Prentiss’s head. For a moment it looked like her hand was glowing and a bright light filled the small room. Prentiss shrieked in pain. Her back arched and spasmed sharply and she fell to her knees. Dark, black smoke rushed up out of her mouth. It seemed to gather itself before rushing the redhead.

The young woman smiled coldly and uttered a single word. To his dying day, Hotch would be unable to recall what word she used. He would only remember the overwhelming sensation he felt, the rush of wind against his face, the syllables sounding like massive bells tolling, and the unearthly shrieking that filled the interrogation room and hallway.

Prentiss lay still on the floor.

“Anna?” Winchester asked again after a few moments had passed. “Not that it’s not damn good to see you, especially since you just smoked a demon, but what are you doing here?”

Seeing as neither Winchester nor Anna moved to help Prentiss, Hotch gingerly picked himself off the floor and shuffled into the room. Reid followed warily, careful to keep plenty of room between himself and Winchester’s friend. Prentiss was so still that Hotch thought she might be dead until he saw her ribcage expand. He touched her face gently, “Emily? Emily can you hear me?”

She groaned softly. Grabbing his proffered hand, she sat up slowly. “Is it gone?”

“I’m curious to know what happened as well,” Reid replied. He raised his gun once again training it on Winchester, and Anna by proxy as she had left the room and was talking to the battered man softly. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

“That will do you no good,” Anna replied before waving her hand negligently. To Reid’s astonishment, the gun was gone. “I can’t stay long Dean. The archangels are still angry, but you need to have this.”

She suddenly held a sword flat across both her palms and offered the miraculously appearing object to Dean. “You’ll need this when you meet him. Though you might want to get a little practice in before the big event.”

“Anna, have you seen Castiel?” Winchester asked, taking the sword warily. “He hasn’t answered in over three weeks.”

“He is currently…indisposed,” Anna responded. “Good luck Dean. I’d suggest you start practicing. Treat Ascalon well and it will protect you.”

Hotch blinked. The girl was gone and now his suspect was armed—in a manner of speaking. Even better, his suspect was the only one relatively uninjured, though Prentiss seemed to be recovering from her strange episode.

“Is it gone?” Prentiss asked again. Hotch could see her rebuilding herself slowly, though not enough to mask the shuttered look in her eyes. He extended his hand again, and the two slowly rose to their feet and joined Winchester in the hallway.

“Yeah, “ Winchester replied softly. “It’s gone. Last time one of them used their mojo on a demon, it died. And while Anna’s not in their Fave Five, she’s still powerful.”

“Demons? Angels? Archangels? The light bringer?” Reid questioned. “You really believe in all this?”

Before Winchester could answer, Prentiss spoke up in a desolate tone. “It’s true. God help us, it’s all true.”

* * * * * *

Rossi tightened the handcuffs roughly. Sam Winchester wouldn’t get away this time—he and his brother were finally going to pay for all the suffering they’d caused over the years.

The tall man wasn’t what he had been expected. Six foot six didn’t sound too much taller than his own five-eleven on paper, but in person Sam Winchester towered over him, Morgan too for that matter. The younger Winchester was fit, like his brother, but Sam was lean where his brother was bulky. And all that size did very little to disguise the fact that Sam was young. “This guy is younger than Reid,” Rossi thought distractedly.

Of course, Reid wasn’t a murdering scumbag, so beyond youth and height, the comparisons stopped there. Rossi pushed Winchester to move him away from the body. The man hadn’t stopped talking since the agents had discovered him, sawed-off shotgun in hand, standing over the body of their missing Park Ranger, Joan Ross.

Along with the usual “this isn’t what it looks like” and “you don’t understand what really happened,” Rossi had particularly enjoyed, “she isn’t human — no really, you have to believe me!”

That last statement was telling. Rossi figured that somewhere between Winchester’s mother’s death, a complete dearth of female mentor figures, being raised by a man no doubt in the throws of a psychotic break, and constantly companioned by a brother with psychotic urges, Sam Winchester came to view women as inferior, inhuman creatures.

And Henricksen had thought he was the lesser of the two evils.

Rossi started to walk Winchester back towards the parked SUVs. Without cell reception, someone would have to stay with the body until they could get back into range to call the station. Morgan and JJ had apparently realized the same thing; Rossi could hear a game of “who owes who more favors” being played quietly behind him.

A clap of thunder filled the previously tranquil night air. Winchester flinched and stopped to look around warily.

“You’re afraid of thunder?” JJ asked incredulously.

“No,” Winchester responded defensively. “Just what comes with thunder in this town.”

Rossi couldn’t see Morgan, but he could almost hear his eyebrow rise quizzically.

Never one to turn down a chance to get a better understanding of a suspect’s mind, Rossi asked, “What do you mean by that Sam?”

The tall man started forward again, surprising Rossi who had to take a few quick steps to remain leading. His gun was out, but he didn’t want to take any chances—even with Winchester’s hands cuffed.

“You didn’t notice the fact that Angela Martin, Lizzie Brown, and Amber-lynn Gordon all died during thunder storms?” Winchester responded.

“That was the work of an arsonist, Henry Davis—“ Morgan started to explain.

“Not in the way you think,” Winchester interrupted. “Davis and Ross over there are, or used to be in Ross’ case, Thunderbirds.”

“They’re Fords?” Rossi asked doubtfully.

“No.”

Looking behind him, Rossi could see the expression on Winchester’s face clearly implied “you dolt.”

“Native American and First Nation tribes across the United States and Canada have stories of supernatural birds of power, strength, and extraordinary strength. They’re depicted as intelligent, power, and wrathful. When they beat their wings they create the sound of thunder. They create winds and control rainfall, thunder, and lightning,” Winchester explained.

“I don’t know,” JJ replied. “Both Davis and Ross don’t look much like birds.”

Both she and Morgan were following Rossi to the car. Either they hadn’t come to a decision of who would stay with the body or they wanted to hear Winchester’s delusions explained.

Winchester sighed. “The Kwakwaka'wakw and Cowichan tribes believed that the Thunderbirds could take human form. The Thunderbird just tilts its beak back, removes its feathers like a blanket and it’s good to go.”

“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” Morgan demanded incredulously. “Davis is actually a giant mythological bird who has the power to turn into a human. And has been using this power to burn down the houses of local nurses by tampering with their wiring.”

“Kind of,” Winchester replied calmly. “Only, we think he killed them by throwing lightning at their houses—Thunderbird control all aspects of storms. He’d be able to call one up whenever he wanted, then just wait till he’s sure they’re inside and chuck lightning at them.”

“So how does Ross tie into this?” Rossi asked curiously.

“Did you know that over ninety percent of bird species are monogamous?” Winchester answered. “Thunderbirds also have a pair bond, and Ross and Davis were bonded.”

He continued his strange explanation. “Of course, we didn’t know who Davis was bonded with when we realized he was killing all those women. Just thought there’d be another one in the area given the recent problem they’ve been having with missing hikers. Thunderbirds are carnivorous, by the way. Some stories have them eating whales, others humans. Apparently these two liked people better.” Winchester shrugged, as if there was no accounting for taste.

“Sam,” JJ asked quietly. “We were supposed to meet another police officer here, Officer Campbell. Did you do anything to her?”

“How do you think I realized Ross was a Thunderbird?” Winchester replied. At their blank looks, he explained further. “I guess Ross needed a midnight snack.”

He gestured with his head to the north. “You’ll find what’s left of her over there.”

* * * * * *

Prentiss could hear Hotch and Reid peppering Dean with questions, but couldn’t bring herself to care about his answers. The demon had shown her it was all too real. Emily shuddered in remembrance of its dark touch; it stripped her down to her core, forcing her to relive her darkest and vilest memories over and over again. She remembered its dark laugh when it let her watch what it was doing in her body—lying to Rossi to ensure all the able-bodied agents would leave the station, toying with Winchester, hurling the harshest insults it could find in her thoughts at her teammates.

How were they going to trust her again after this?

She and Reid had been slowly repairing their friendship over their mutual love for British science-fiction television and spy movies. Reid had been one of the first to welcome her to the team three years ago, but his struggle with addiction destroyed their fledgling friendship quickly.

And now she had thrown it back in his face.

She didn’t even want to think about how long it would take for him to forgive her for bringing up his mother. Or for mocking his fear that he might one day develop the same schizophrenia that destroyed his mother’s life.

She drew her arms around herself protectively. She tried to listen to the conversation between her coworkers and the Hunter. She didn’t want to think about what it had shown her of her own fate.

“Who was that woman?” Hotch asked again. Apparently Dean had been ignoring him while playing with the balance of his new sword.

“Anna’s an angel,” Dean replied simply.

Prentiss remembered the demon’s sharp fear when the petite redhead had suddenly appeared. At the time she couldn’t understand why the slight and almost fragile looking woman could scare the creature that controlled her every movement, but then Anna started walking towards her.

The demon had loosened control on her body, and Prentiss had wanted to get away from the newcomer. The previously human image continued to be stripped away the longer the redhead remained in the room, leaving a figure of terrible brightness in the interrogation room. As it had steadily advanced, Prentiss remembered the fierce joy that filled her body—the foul thing would get what it deserved.

It had placed a hand on her head and freed her with a single word.

“When Prentiss there was touched by an angel, it killed Meg—the demon possessing her,” Dean continued.

“It hurt,” she whispered. “It clawed and it fought.”

“That sucks,” Dean responded. “You’re lucky, though. Usually the demons wear their hosts to the bone before they leave—and the host dies once they check out.”

“So why did the angel show up?” Hotch questioned.

“Hell if I know,” Dean responded. “They aren’t exactly the fuzzy bunnies shown on ‘Touched by an Angel.’ Most of ‘em are douches.”

“Still,” he continued, “Anna’s helped me and Sam out a couple times. I guess she must have been in the area and wanted to kick some demon ass.”

“She was in the area?” Hotch repeated incredulously. “A biblical being of light and a messenger of God just decided to visit Jackson, Missouri and pass the time by killing a demon and giving you a sword?”

“Their reputation has been highly exaggerated,” Winchester responded.

“It was terrified of her,” Prentiss added. She shifted uncomfortably on the floor. “The demon, I mean, it was terrified of her.”

Winchester held up a hand, “I’m not saying they’re not powerful, just that they aren’t the cute naked babies of puppies and sunshine everyone thinks.” He suddenly focused his attention on Prentiss and changed the subject brusquely. “How much were you awake for? Meg claimed twenty minutes back there, but she was a fucking liar.”

Reeling, it took Prentiss a moment to respond. “It felt like forever…it got me just before I started interviewing you.”

“Why do you refer to it as ‘Meg’?” Reid asked curiously. “Prentiss doesn’t.”

“Meg was the name of her host when we first met,” Dean explained. He started to pace up and down the linoleum hallway.

“What happened to her?” Reid questioned.

“Managed to catch Meg and exorcise her, but by that point the girl’s body was too damaged. She died.” Winchester shot them an unreadable look. “As I said, as much as it sucks, you’re pretty lucky.”

He stared to play with the sword again, this time switching it from hand to hand aimlessly. “I gotta take a leak,” he announced before bounding down the hallway and taking a quick left.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Hotch warned his quickly retreating back. He turned to his two agents, surveying them quickly.

It wasn’t pretty. Hotch’s shoulder throbbed angrily, reminding him he needed medical attention, Reid was crutches and looked to be having a metaphysical crisis of faith, and Prentiss was shell-shocked.

“You two stay here for a moment, I’m going to try to find Officer Jones—he was supposed to be in an office somewhere finishing paperwork,” Hotch said. “Though I’m still not sure how to explain this.”

Prentiss and Reid were alone in the hallway. “I keep thinking back to that case in March,” Prentiss whispered to Reid. “I was so sure that Father Silvano killed those men…” her voice trailed off. “He said we made the world a more dangerous place. My god, what if he was right? What if he really was helping those families and we stopped him?”

“I’m not sure,” Reid replied softly, awkwardly sliding down the wall to join her sitting on the floor. “All the victims were restrained. You, sorry, it was strong. I’m not sure that ropes alone would have been enough if they were truly possessed. Plus, we didn’t see any designs like that,” Reid pointed to the red sharpie circle decorating the interrogation room’s ceiling.

“It never even crossed my mind that he could be helping those families,” Prentiss confessed guiltily. “All I could think was that this was the Catholic Church, coming in to take advantage of those family’s fears. Trying to bring the sheep back into the fold.”

“They did that to me, you know?” It was as if she couldn’t control the words coming out of her mouth. If she could, she wouldn’t have picked Reid to confide in—not about this. But she couldn’t keep its voice out of her head, telling her that Father Gamino was right about her all those years ago. The images it had shown her of where she would go to pay for her sins. Talking drowned those images and words, and Reid was a sympathetic, if slightly unfitting, listener.

“They told me that if I didn’t do it their way, I’d be inviting the devil into me,” she breathed in raggedly. “Maybe they did know something after all.”

“Emily,” Reid started, gripping her shoulder tightly. “I know you. I can’t say I knew you then, but I know you now. There’s no way you would ever invite this. You’re a good person.”

It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. Prentiss and Reid sat in the dark hallway for a long moment, simply breathing in and out.

“I hurt my knee playing DDR with Garcia,” Reid blurted out suddenly.

Emily looked at him strangely. “DDR?” she asked.

“It’s a video game,” he mumbled.

She hunched over, her shoulders shaking slightly at first, then heavily. Her howls of laughter filled the air. Reid would have been concerned with the slightly hysterical twinge if he hadn’t been sure his own laughter was reflecting the same pitch.

After a beat, Reid turned to Prentiss. “Emily, Winchester said he was going to the bathroom, right?”

At her nod, he asked, “Then why did he turn to go towards the holding cell?”

* * * * * *

“Remind me again how Rossi managed to pull guarding Winchester while we got stuck combing the forest for Campbell?” Morgan asked JJ after stumbling over yet another tree root. Though the moon was full, the foliage was dense and far too many shadows hid tree roots, rocks, and other fun surprises that continued to remind Morgan’s knees why he had quit college football.

“Because he’s a crafty bastard sometimes?” JJ replied crankily.

“Sometimes?” Morgan asked as he poked a bush experimentally with his boot.

“Good point,” JJ acknowledged. “Nothing over here, ready to move up?”

Rossi had asked them to do a quick grid search while he started to question Winchester. While they had initially planned to bring Winchester in immediately and leave a team member, most likely Morgan himself, to secure the scene, JJ suggested a quick grid search. By examining Winchester’s dumpsite, they could start to build a profile for Sam.

Morgan let out a disgusted snort. They had spent so much time and energy on Dean Winchester that they had ignored his partner-in-crime. No matter that Henricksen had done the same thing—they were supposed to have approached the St. Louis murders (and the Baltimore murders, and the Milwaukee robbery, and the Green River County escape for that matter) with fresh eyes.

“All set, another ten feet?” Morgan replied. As he cautiously stepped forward, he asked her, “What do you think the deal with the Thunderbird thing is?”

“Winchester’s monster story?” JJ said. “Well, it sounded like it was a Native American myth. Reid said that this area was created in memorial of those who died on the Trail of Tears—maybe it was a Cherokee story? Winchester recognized the area’s significance and tried to find the first monster story that dealt with fire to pin on Davis? I don’t know, isn’t this more your area than mine?”

“Woah, JJ,” Morgan held his hands up defensively. “Didn’t mean to tread on your toes there. Just wondered what you thought, was all.”

“Sorry, it’s just late and I’m missing Henry,” JJ replied sheepishly. “Still nothing, you?”

“Nothing yet,” he replied. He took a few more steps forward and saw a dark shape near a tree a few paces to his left. “Wait, hold on, I think I might have something here.”

As he approached the smell of blood hit his nose sharply. Slowly a body appeared from the darkness, crumpled against the trunk of a large oak. It was a woman, Morgan observed as he drew closer, and she had died very violently. While her face was relatively unscathed, it was locked into an expression of primal fear. Morgan imagined that her arms might have been raised to protect her torso, but her body was too badly mangled to be positive.

A flash of metal caught his eye as he knelt down to examine the women more closely. He picked up a badge gingerly. “JJ, I found her badge — this is Officer Campbell,” he sad sadly.

As JJ hiked through the underbrush, Morgan examined the woman’s ruined torso closely. It was covered in deep gouges, and what was left of the flesh on her forearms was in ribbons. Her holster was empty.

“Hey JJ, can you look around for her gun?” Morgan asked. At her assent, he stood up and began to visualize the scene. “Campbell was hiking, probably trying to find Ross. She’s surprised, but managed to pull her gun out.”

He looked around the forest floor. “I see some shell cases, looks like she got two shots off before being attacked. Though…” he paused to think for a moment.

“What?” JJ asked. “Oh, and no gun yet. That might be something the boys have to find when it’s light out.”

“Officer Campbell was either mauled or tortured extensively with a large knife or machete judging by her wound patterns,” Morgan said slowly.

“And we found Winchester with a gun,” JJ replied. “Do you think he tossed a knife somewhere around here?”

“It’s possible, but if he tortured and killed Campbell, he would have been covered in blood,” Morgan replied. “And he isn’t. Judging by the lividity of the body, she’s only been dead a few hours at most. My guess is under an hour.”

“So he didn’t exactly have time for a shower before killing Ross,” JJ finished. “So who killed Campbell then?”

“I have a theory, but I want to check something out first.” Morgan replied. “I just want to examine Ross’ body one more time.”

Both Morgan and JJ hiked down to where they’d arrested Sam Winchester over Ranger Ross’ still body. After fifteen minutes of brisk walking, they arrived back in the clearing. The temporary cones Morgan had set earlier to mark the crime scene were still perched merrily on adjacent rocks, their florescent orange markings catching the moonlight easily.

Morgan pulled on his spare pair of gloves and delicately turned the body onto its back. They hadn’t wanted to disturb the scene earlier, but Morgan needed to confirm or disprove the niggling idea ringing inside his head.

Ross’ torso was covered in drying blood, which had stained her uniform dark brown in the moonlight.

JJ leaned over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. “Could this be from the gunshot wound?” JJ asked, immediately understanding why Morgan had disturbed the body.

Morgan shook his head. “No, Winchester got a clean head shot. Looks like a through and through. I don’t see any other open wounds—it’s probable that the blood on her torso isn’t hers.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Ross lured Campbell up to the park by calling in fake reports of missing hikers and vandalism?” JJ asked.

“It’s not a bad way to get victims,” Morgan replies. “Though not a good way to avoid detection.”

“So what? Winchester sees Ross attacking Campbell, chases her, then kills her with his shotgun?” JJ theorized.

“It’s possible that he and his brother are vigilantes,” Morgan said slowly, his brain whirling at the possibilities the physical evidence presented. “It would explain why the St. Louis victim is protecting him. And why Detective Ballard vouches for him.”

Morgan started to pace, careful to tread well away from Ross’s body. “Dad teaches the boys that people who kill are monsters. Their duty is to kill the monsters…” his voice trailed off.

* * * * * *

Prentiss ran towards the holding cells leaving Reid to bring Hotch. Her gun had been left untouched by Anna’s visit, and after pausing briefly to retrieve it from temporary lock-up, she was ready to confront Dean “No, Winchester,” she corrected herself mentally.

In other circumstances she would have removed herself from duty due to mental instability, but given the dearth of available officers in the building it was her or let Winchester at Davis. The demon enjoyed taunting her with memories of past interactions with Dean Winchester; she knew the cruelty he was capable of inflicting to win against the monsters. He had knowingly killed Meg, the girl the demon had possessed he was most familiar with, in the course of interrogating the demon for information on his father. He had been told the exorcism would kill the girl, and he hadn’t cared.

Prentiss wondered absently what type of monster he thought Davis was, or if he had graduated to killing humans who acted like monsters.

“Ready?” Hotch asked quietly from behind her.

She jumped slightly; she’d been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard him approach. “On three,” she proposed.

They pushed open the door to the holding cells and rounded the corner warily. Hotch taking the left, Prentiss the right, and Reid behind them. The more Prentiss thought about this, the worse an idea it appeared. Hotch was still bleeding sluggishly, and his gun arm was trembling slightly. Reid couldn’t hold a gun and move at the same time. And she was trying to hold off a mental breakdown.

She wondered if Henricksen had had these types of problems when dealing with Dean Winchester.

There was a body slumped over the small desk in the corner of the hallway. After a quick examination, Hotch determined Officer Jones was breathing and had most likely been knocked out.

Prentiss could hear voices from around the corner. Davis was begging for his life, “Please! Please don’t kill me!”

Dean’s voice was hard, “Did you give those women a chance when you burnt their houses down Henry? How about those hikers you’ve been munching on the past year? And what about those kiddies—your kind likes them, right? When you’re taking off with them, you going to listen to their cries?”

“Winchester!” Hotch said tightly. “Put down the gun. He’s in custody, he’ll get what he deserves, but it has to be done legally. Don’t do this.”

“Dude, you just saw one of your agents, who was possessed by a demon, get exorcised by an angel. Put the whole monster hunter thing into a little context, please,” Dean replied sarcastically. He held a shotgun to Davis head steadily, having fashioned a makeshift scabbard for his sword from a belt. It seemed in addition to knocking out Officer Jones, Dean had stolen his belt as well.

“I hunt monsters, you now know monsters—Dracula, Casper, and all their fucked up friends—exist and like to kill people. Now put it all together big guy,” Dean finished sarcastically.

“No, you’re wrong,” Reid insisted. “He’s not a creature, just a very sick man. He killed those women by tampering with their homes. We have a confession — we can show you if you want. We have transcripts and a bit of video.”

Dean turned towards Reid and opened his mouth to retort. Whatever brilliant rhetoric was to have come from the young man was never realized as a bright light filled the area.

BOOM!

The sound was overwhelming. When combined with the bright light, it was as if a flashbang grenade had exploded.

When Prentiss regained her senses, she began coughing. The room had filled with dust and debris. Where had that come from?

“Son of a bitch!” she heard dimly. She looked around for the source, but stopped after seeing the exterior wall of the holding cell. Or rather, what used to be the exterior wall of the holding cell.

Now there was a large hole in the wall. A cool breeze was clearing the dust rapidly, but the three federal agents and the now single felon continued to blink dumbly at the change.

Prentiss could make out a large dark shape against the moonlit sky, a large bird was flying northwest, most likely towards the park, but there was no sign of Davis on the ground.

“Shit, things never go to plan,” Winchester exclaimed as he looked out of the jagged hole worriedly.

“You had a plan?” Reid asked incredulously.

* * * * * *

It was good to him, Rossi decided as he waited in the parking lot. While Morgan and JJ were stumbling around in the dark forest, most likely being eaten alive by mosquitoes he reminded himself, he was getting the first crack at interrogating Winchester.

Unlike his wisecracking brother, Sam Winchester was soft-spoken and serious. Rossi had handcuffed him to the car door—his own aversion to sitting in a non-air-conditioned metal box for hours meshing nicely with his suspect’s request to stand. Though Winchester’s height may have been the motivating factor in that request—it was going to be a tight squeeze when they left for the Jackson station. All in all, however, letting Winchester stay outside the car only made him look sympathetic to Winchester.

“Stanford?” he asked Winchester conversationally. “Why’d you choose a school in California?”

Winchester blinked. “The weather mostly. Lived most my life in the Mid-West and wanted something as different as possible,” he replied slowly. “That and they offered me a full-ride.”

“What were you studying?” Rossi asked idly, scanning the forest for signs of movement.

“I thought you guys had our file?” Winchester asked in response.

Rossi shrugged lazily, “Honestly? I thought you were really dead.” At Winchester’s surprised look, he said, “It was the only reason I could think of that your brother would let himself get taken in like that.”

Winchester stared at him blankly. “Dean’s not the guy you think he is,” he started hesitantly. “He’s a good guy,” he stated emphatically.

“And what about you Sam?” Rossi asked curiously. “Are you a good guy too?”

Winchester’s face darkened for a moment, but before he could answer Morgan and JJ emerged from the woods. Rossi checked the cuffs linking Winchester to the car door before walking over to join his teammates. The sound of thunder rumbled again, but when he looked up the night sky was clear.

“What did you find?” he asked impatiently.

JJ and Morgan looked at the ground, at the sky, at each other—everywhere but towards Rossi. Finally JJ broke and said, “We found Officer Campbell and taped the scene off. But it doesn’t look like Winchester killed her—it looks like she was mauled and there’s not enough blood on Winchester.”

“There was,” Morgan added smoothly, “a significant amount of blood on Ranger Ross’ body that doesn’t look like it came from the gun wound. I’m thinking the Winchester brothers might be more mission-oriented killers than we thought.”

“Vigilante?” Rossi asked after a beat. Another roll of thunder filled the night air and a few clouds were rapidly arriving from the southeast.

“Yup,” Morgan replied. “Looks like Winchester might have seen Ross torture and kill Campbell and decided to enact some quick justice of his own.”

“Might explain his insistence that his brother is a good guy, and his own conflict over himself,” Rossi mused. “I asked him earlier if he was also a good guy and he didn’t have the same conviction as your typical mission-based killer.”

“Maybe that time away from the family helped open his eyes,” Morgan theorized.

Before Rossi could agree a crack of lightening tore through the air. A bright light flashed and ruined Rossi’s night vision. He spent a few desperate moments blinking rapidly, “What is going on with the weather?” he asked irritably.

Winchester started shouting at them, tugging violently against his restraints. “It’s here! Shoot it! Shoot it!” He pointed with his free hand to a large dark shape circling the parking lot.

“It’s a bird!” Morgan replied testily. “Hold your horses.”

“It isn’t Caroll Fucking Spinney,” Winchester argued hotly. “Weren’t you listening earlier? It’s a Thunderbird, it’s going to eat us like it did that police officer if you don’t kill it now!”

Before Rossi could intervene, the bird threw back its head and shrieked loudly. A flash of lightning hit the pavement in between Rossi and the SUV Sam Winchester was handcuffed to. The dark shape circled the parking lot again, slowly dropping in altitude. It threw back its head and lightning struck again. It hit a shrub at the edge of the lot, which promptly burst into flames.

Now that it was closer, Rossi could truly appreciate its massive size. Its wingspan must have been over fifteen feet, but it was hard to see other specific characteristics of the dark bird against the storm clouds that had rushed in.

“This is some messed up weather,” Morgan commented shakily. “I can almost understand how people used to think it was controlled by the gods.”

Winchester was still shouting though the low rumble of thunder masked his words. It was odd, Rossi thought, how the thunder seemed to match the beating of the giant bird’s wings. The bird threw its head back once more, and Rossi would swear to its dying day that it was targeting him, and the sharp crackle of lightning filled the air.

The lightning bolt had hit not two feet in front of him.

“Holy crap,” JJ whispered as she upholstered her gun. “I think the bird is causing it,” she exclaimed softly.

“You’re crazy,” Morgan replied. “Birds don’t control the weather, calm down. It’s just a flash thunderstorm.” He looked to Rossi for support, but the older man was busy aiming to respond.

BANG!

JJ fired her gun once. The bird reacted oddly the loud sounds. Rather than be startled or start to fly away, it turned mid-loop and flapped its giant wings once. Thunder once again filled the air.

It dove towards the second SUV and landed heavily on its roof. It’s claws gorging deep scratches into its metal roof. It flapped its wings twice, slowly starting to rise—and the SUV began to rise with it.

That was enough for Rossi; he started to fire, his bullets mixing in with Morgan’s and JJ’s as they aimed for the monstrous bird. Their bullets didn’t seem to have an immediate impact. The bird and SUV continued to rise another five feet, then started in their direction.

“Keep firing!” he directed JJ and Morgan frantically. He replaced his clip and continued to shoot.

The bird dropped the SUV and started to throw back its head once more. The SUV landed heavily on its wheels, the tires exploding from the unexpected impact onto the sharp gravel.

Three shots hit the bird’s head simultaneously. It dropped from the air, hitting the ground heavily on top of the wreckage of the SUV. Glass exploded in all directions and the doors popped off their hinges with loud groans.

“Now do you believe me?” Sam Winchester’s voice rang out across the suddenly still night.

Morgan snorted, “It was a rabid bird Winchester. Don’t work yourself up about it.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that the weather’s cleared?” Winchester responded. “A Thunderbird controls the weather, now that Davis is dead the storm’s gone.”

Davis? Rossi mouthed to JJ, confused as to how their previously arrested arsonist had anything to do with the night’s activities.

“Winchester thinks that Davis is a Thunderbird, some sort Native American mythological creature. They eat people,” she explained quietly. “Apparently Ranger Ross was its mate.”

Morgan was getting frustrated, “Winchester, it was a bird. Birds are not evil, they’re not monsters, they’re just animals.”

“Fine,” Winchester snorted. “But do me a favor, go look at the body.”

The SUV had been destroyed, first from its drop, then from the body of the bird dropping on top of it. Rossi and Morgan moved warily around the torn pieces of metal, the shattered glass, and the odd piece of mirror. Despite everything, the body of the car was relatively intact. Stepping up, they glanced over the top of the roof.

Henry Davis lay crumpled on the roof, his body riddled with bullets.

* * * * * *

Reid was back in the main office of the Jackson police station, idly turning in the swivel chair he had co-opted earlier in the night. After Davis had escaped from his cell, he had started making phone calls, first to Chief Robert then to JJ. While JJ’s phone had gone straight to voicemail, Chief Robert had promised to call in the night shift early to help clean up and swore he’d be back at the station soon.

Reid hadn’t made up his mind to believe Winchester. On the one hand, the man was right about demons walking the Earth, on the other hand — their arsonist was a were-bird? It tested the limits of Reid’s not-inconsiderable imagination.

Hotch was talking quietly to Prentiss in the corner, leaving Reid to watch Winchester. The man had been re-cuffed and was currently mimicking Reid’s movements in a swivel chair of his own.

“I still say my plan wasn’t that bad,” Winchester pouted from across the room.

“You get yourself arrested so you’ll have access to Davis. You were going to what? Kill him, then hope to escape unnoticed?” Reid replied sarcastically.

“Well, Steve McQueen made it look so easy, I thought why not?” Winchester said. “The plan was pretty good, just hit a few snags.”

“Didn’t expect us to still be here?” Reid asked.

“Yup,” Winchester confirmed ruefully. “Pretty crappy timing really. Don’t you guys normally fly off into the sunset after you catch the bad guy?”

“Doesn’t quite work like that. We were supposed to leave,” Reid checked his watch, “about five hours ago. But then Hotch made the positive identification and our plans changed.”

Reid leaned forward in his chair, “A shape shifter really killed those women in St. Louis?” he asked intently.

“Yeah, we’ve run into a couple of them over the year. They can take anyone’s shape, but they have to shed their skin every couple of days, usually take a new shape at the same time,” Winchester explained.

“But how do you know someone’s a shape shifter?”

“Their eyes flash when exposed to the light. Best way is catch ‘em on camera, but any light will do.”

“What really happened to the shape shifter in St. Louis?” Reid asked.

“It was wearing my face when it decided to carve up Becky. The cops shot at it a couple times, but regular bullets won’t kill the things—you need a silver bullet to the heart for shape shifters. I found it in the sewers after the cops screwed up, shot it, then got the hell out of dodge,” Winchester explained.

“Why silver?” Reid asked, his mind instantly going through the information he knew about the element. While the Ancient Greeks ascribed healing powers to the metal, modern astrologers believed silver to be the element of the moon. Maybe shape shifters, like werewolves if the stories were to be believed, were somehow in thrall of the moon — thus its earthly equivalent, silver, could hurt them?

“Hell if I know,” Winchester replied. “It just works.”

Reid had started peppering Winchester with questions on the veracity of movie and literary monster myths (and their methods of destruction) when the rest of his team walked in with a large man following, he looked vaguely familiar but Reid couldn’t place his face.

“JJ,” he cried out. “We tried calling you earlier but…” he trailed off having belatedly recognized the tall man.

“Sammy!” Winchester exclaimed. “What the hell dude?”

“Dean, your plans suck,” Sam Winchester muttered. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh shut it bitch face, my plans rock. You’re the one who screwed up,” Winchester replied, spinning around on his chair idly.

“Reid,” Rossi said, leaning down. “Why is Dean Winchester in the office? And not restrained?”

“He’s handcuffed!” Reid protested. “And, um, he’s here because there was an incident in the interrogation room. And the holding cells. It was here or lock him in Chief Robert’s office — and since he’s escaped from custody before, I thought it was better here in plain sight.”

Rossi had apparently been appeased with his less than detailed explanation and walked off, presumably to press Hotch for more specifics.

The Winchester brothers ignored Rossi’s exit and continued to talk. “Meg? Really?” Sam asked.

“I know, apparently it’s pretty easy to get up here now,” Dean replied.

“Why was she here? And how’d you get rid of her?” Sam asked after finding an office chair of his own.

The two brothers looked entirely too unconcerned with their surroundings and their restraints for Reid’s comfort. They were loose limbed, each spreading out over a borrowed office chair. Dean had stopped spinning and put his boots onto a desk. Reid glanced at the nameplate quickly, Officer Brown was going to have to rewrite that report — it was now covered with grit.

“Well Sammy, in between having my face pounded in and getting tossed around I didn’t really have time to ask Meg what her social calendar looked like for the rest of the week,” Dean replied snidely.

“Hey asswipe, I just had to deal with BOTH of the Thunderbirds due to your brilliant plan, so cut me some slack and tell me what went down with Meg,” Sam snarled.

Morgan and JJ had joined Reid in observing the brother’s behavior. Reid leaned towards JJ and asked quietly, “Is this how your brothers act with each other?”

“Sort of,” she replied. “Eddie and Andy give each other flack like this, but Andy and Simon mostly kid around—not as much name calling.”

Reid remembered the one, and if he could possibly help it, only time he had met JJ’s family. The boisterous group had only been at partial-strength with her sister Anne missing Henry’s welcoming party due to her own sick child, but they were still overwhelming. And Reid hadn’t even been on the receiving end of most of the attention—that was a special honor reserved for Will, who had to endure a “talk” with JJ’s older brothers about his intentions towards JJ and Henry.

“Fine jerk,” Winchester was saying. “Meg was riding Agent Prentiss over there.”

Morgan and JJ startled at this new information, and Reid nodded slowly. He held up a hand to ward off their questions, he wanted to how Dean explained the evening’s events to his brother. Beyond the basic “demons are real and want to kill you” explanation, Reid had mostly been left in the dark. Maybe Dean would slip in some more information while explaining.

“Anyway, she and Agent Stick-Up-His-Ass were questioning me when I realized her questions were a little too pointed. So I doused her with holy water. She didn’t like that too much, things got a bit hairy,” Winchester explained. “Luckily Anna decided to stop by and have the mother of all cat fights with Prentiss.” He closed his eyes and smiled dreamily for a second.

“She, Anna, not Prentiss, also decided to give me a sword,” he added as an afterthought, nodding over to Reid who lifted it obligingly.” It has a fancy name and everything — Ascalon, is what she called it. Of course, Twiggy over there won’t let me hold on to it. He claims its ‘cause I’m dangerous, but honestly I think he just wants to play with it a bit.”

* * * * * *

“So what are we going to do about the Winchesters?” Rossi asked Hotch, dropping into the empty chair next to Prentiss heavily. At their raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “I spent the evening killing a bird that controlled the weather that turned out to be Henry Davis. And I hear you both had an…enlightening evening yourselves.”

“They may be guilty of some of the lesser charges,” Prentiss added, “but I’m of the mind to believe Winchester when he says he didn’t kill those women in St. Louis.”

She paused a moment, “And if they annoy all demons like they did tonight, then they’ve done a lot of good. Should we really lock them up for that?”

Hotch frowned pensively. On the one hand the brothers appeared to do quite a bit of good, on the other hand, they were vigilantes at best, who would kill without hesitation if they believed a monster was responsible. Given the skill necessary to identify monsters, they did what traditional law enforcement was unable to.

But what happened when they encountered human criminals? Would they be able to leave them to the justice system? Or would their contempt of law officers lead them to take care of the problem themselves?

“We don’t get to choose the laws we want to enforce and the ones we don’t,” he finally replied. “We keep them in custody.”

* * * * * *

“Who the hell is Anna? And Meg? And how was Meg riding Prentiss? What the hell happened here tonight anyway?” Morgan burst out, interrupted the brothers’ reunion suddenly.

Both Winchesters ignored him. “So you killed both of ‘em?” Dean asked his brother intently.

“I got the mate, and it was the Park Ranger — you totally owe me ten bucks — and those three killed Davis,” responded the younger brother. “And yeah, this plan worked great Dean. Weren’t you supposed to be responsible for Davis?”

Sam continued on, aggrieved, “Of course, Agent Morgan spent more of the ride back here telling me it was all some kind of trick and there’s a rational explanation for everything.”

“He killed a giant bird that shoots lightning out of its mouth, watched it turn into a human, and thinks it was a trick of the light?” Dean asked exasperatedly. He turned to Morgan, “Here’s your rational explanation: monsters are real, demons exist, every baddie from fairy tales, movies, and books is real and most likely will try to eat you.”

“Don’t forget that angels are real,” Sam Winchester added.

“Right!” his brother responded. “But they’re a lot douchier than Roma Downey led us to expect.”

Morgan and JJ recoiled.

“It’s true,” Prentiss told her colleagues as she crossed the room, apparently having overheard the brothers’ conversation. “God help us, it’s all true.”

“God’s left the building sweetheart,” Dean replied with a bitter smile. “Apparently it’s us apes, monsters, and angels stumbling around.”

“I can’t believe that,” Rossi said entering the conversation. “ How can there be angels if there’s no God?”

“Didn’t say he doesn’t exist,” Dean protested. “Just that he’s apparently pulled a fast one on us and disappeared.”

Before Rossi could respond to this latest bombshell, Sam Winchester asked, “But why was Meg here? And did Anna say anything about Cas?”

“Just that he’s indisposed,” Dean replied disgustedly. “Which could mean anything from he’s back in angel indoctrination camp to locked up forever.” He paused briefly, a frown marring his face and making him appear decades older. “As for Meg? No clue why she was in town. Though Anna made some crack about practicing…” he trailed off.

“You think she knows something?” Sam asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time she’s dropped by to say something spooky then disappear without really helping,” Dean replied.

* * * * * *

A loud scream followed by a worrying crash interrupted further discussion between the brothers. Hotch pulled his gun on both Winchester brothers, then chained each one to a desk to ensure they’d stay put. He told Reid and JJ to keep on eye on both of them as he borrowed Reid’s pistol. He had emptied his clip earlier in the evening and the emergency weapons locker was locked until Captain Robert returned.

As he ran towards the front entrance, Sam Winchester’s voice followed him, “What if we can help you?”

He met up with his team outside the front door. There were two new cars joining his team’s mini-fleet of black SUVs, both older model American sedans—most likely the arriving night shift’s vehicles.

“Where are they?” Morgan asked the question on everyone’s mind.

Hotch joined Prentiss and Rossi in inspecting the cars.

“No signs of a struggle here,” Prentiss reported as she examined the red sedan.

“None here, but get this,” Rossi replied. “The doors are unlocked.”

“What kind of cop doesn’t lock his car?” Morgan asked curiously.

If Hotch hadn’t had one of the craziest nights he could remember, he doubted he would have spotted it in the dark. The adrenaline had been flowing steadily for hours now, and Hotch doubted he could relax if he tried at this point.

“I don’t think they had the chance,” he said slowly. “I think we’ve got blood over here.” He pointed down to a small trail of dark droplets leading away from both cars around the side of the station.

They rounded the corner cautiously.

“We’ve got company,” Morgan announced unnecessarily.

Sitting in dirt was a giant lizard, or perhaps a dragon given the way Hotch’s day had been going, chewing enthusiastically. A leg dangled from between two massive teeth, Hotch noticed uneasily. He signaled for a retreat and started slowly backing up.

They had only moved a few steps before the thing took notice of them. A car had entered the parking lot and the sound of the motor disturbed the creature’s feast. It looked up eagerly as it heard a car door slam. Hotch prayed that it hadn’t formed a Pavlovian response to car doors and mealtime. It rose to its feet slowly and started towards them, its tongue flickering in and out and it moved surprisingly quickly.

Hotch had rather hoped its size would prohibit quick movements, but then again, this wasn’t his night.

He started to backpedal faster, unwilling to turn his back on this new threat.

“Holy crap!” A voice rang out. “What the hell is that thing?”

Captain Robert stood outside his squad car in shock. He hadn’t pulled his gun, merely stood in disbelief at the behemoth rapidly approaching. Unfortunately for Captain Robert, the creature didn’t share his sense of awe. Bypassing the four agents easily, knocking them off their feet in the process, it reached the dedicated officer in a few steps.

It leaned down and started to bite before the man had a chance to let out a second terrified scream.

The front doors burst open and the Winchester brothers appeared, guns drawn, and in Dean’s case carrying a sword as well. Neither wasted any time opening fire on the giant lizard, though it only seemed to make it angry.

“What are you waiting for?” Sam yelled angrily, “Shoot it!”

“Is that the only phrase this kid knows?” Morgan grumbled as he unholstered his gun for the second time this evening.

The gunfire was certainly affecting the monster, but sadly it didn’t look to be weakening the creature. If anything, Hotch guessed it was getting angry. It charged at the brothers, causing both to jump out of the way to avoid harm. They landed on opposite sides on the doorway and continued to shoot steadily.

The monster thrashed its tail angrily, denting the side of one of the parked car as it backed away from the front entrance.

“What the hell is this thing?” Hotch asked Sam Winchester, who had taken a defensive position near him.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Winchester responded, never pausing in his steady shots. “I think it might be a Diyahali though. It certainly eats people and looks enough like a giant lizard for the Cherokee to give it that description.”

“How do you kill it?” Rossi yelled from his position behind Captain Robert’s squad car.

“Shoot it?” Sam Winchester replied uncertainly. “That works pretty often.”

“Not that I’m not grateful for the backup,” Hotch began. “But how did you two get out of those cuffs?”

Sam grinned unrepentantly. “Dean and I have been able to pick locks since we could read. Wasn’t too much harder to pick the armory lock after we were free. Oops, time to move,” he interrupted himself as the Diyahali rushed towards them. They ran from their position behind the concrete stairs to join Rossi behind the grey sedan.

The Diyahali nudged the car with it nose repeatedly, each time pushing the groaning vehicle back a few feet. It looked like an oversized kitten trying to get at a few mice in a corner, Hotch thought hysterically as the lizard continued to destroy his cover.

Dean shouted from across the parking lot. “Hey ugly!” He waved his arms as the lizard turned its attention to the new sounds, “That’s right, I’m talking to you, you wannabe Godzilla! What are you standing around for?”

The Diyahali turned rapidly and started towards Dean, and Morgan and Prentiss by default. Its tail hit the remains of the car as it turned, tossing it into the air and over the Hotch’s head. It hit the station wall with a clash and fell to Earth. Hotch grabbed Sam’s arm and ran, pulling the massive man with him.

Dean had evidently liberated an assault rifle while escaping from federal custody and wasn’t holding back. He emptied a clip on the rapidly approaching beast. It roared in anger as a few of the shots connected to soft tissue.

It reared back on it haunches and swiped at him with a massive claw. Dean ducked, and started to run back towards the entrance of the station. Morgan and Prentiss cut the other direction to meet up with Hotch.

“Hotch!” Morgan cried. “We’re out of ammunition, you got an extra clip on you?”

Before Hotch could answer, the Diyahali bore down on them. It had evidently decided to go for the gathered agents rather than the running felon. It barreled into Morgan, tossing him carelessly in the air. He landed heavily ten feet away.

Morgan didn’t move.

* * * * * *

Rossi motioned for Hotch to continue to run, he’d go and check on Morgan. Of the two of them, Rossi figured he’d at least be able to move Morgan if he was in need of serious medical attention. Hotch had started bleeding through the makeshift bandage on his shoulder, and Rossi wasn’t sure how long adrenaline was going to continue to obscure the pain.

He reached Morgan and gently shook his shoulder. “Morgan? You with me?” he asked quietly.

The man’s groan wasn’t exactly coherent, but it was a start. He started to get to his feet, but collapsed and groaned again. “Shit,” he breathed. “I think my ribs are busted.”

Prentiss joined him at Morgan’s side. “Looks like the Winchesters are distracting it for now. Come on, let’s get him out of the way.” She looked over at Rossi ruefully, “it’s not like I can do much else at this point besides throwing this thing at it.” She waved her empty gun menacingly at the Diyahali, which was currently alternating between chasing Sam and Dean Winchester.

Whenever it got too close to one brother, the other would yell, shoot, or similarly draw the attention of the creature away. The lizard would then start to chase him and the process started again. Rossi marveled at the teamwork the two showed. Despite the earlier insults and bickering, the two had come up with a workable plan to stall the rampaging monster with little more than a nod and a raised eyebrow.

“What are you idiots waiting for?” Dean yelled over. “Get him out of here!”

Rossi repressed an urge to flip the brat off and braced Morgan on his shoulder. Between him and Prentiss, they were able to move Morgan back into the station. Rossi stopped short when he entered the main office. Gently lowering Morgan onto the floor, he stopped to fully appreciate the view.

JJ was handcuffed to one of the desks Hotch had handcuffed the Winchester brothers to earlier. Reid was on the floor trying to pick the lock with a paperclip, having apparently freed himself from the other desk. He was muttering under his breath and hadn’t noticed Rossi’s arrival.

“How much longer?” JJ was asking when she looked up and saw Rossi.

“Almost there,” Reid replied, jiggling the paperclip. “Got it!” he announced triumphantly.

“Glad to see you could have had a successful life in crime,” Rossi said dryly. Reid looked up, horrified to be caught with his pants metaphorically down. “Is this the new method of watching prisoners?” he teased.

Rossi felt a twinge of guilt at the dismayed look on JJ and Reid’s face, but it was just too much fun to tease the younger two agents.

JJ chose to ignore him, placing an arm on Reid’s shoulder to prevent him from trying to explain. “What happened to Morgan?” she asked. “He doesn’t look so good.”

“There’s a giant lizard thing outside, it got Morgan pretty good,” Rossi replied.

“Another giant monster?” JJ replied. “Oh wow, that’s not a phrase I ever thought would be coming out of my mouth.”

“Reid, I want you to stay here and help Morgan,” Rossi instructed. “Prentiss, JJ, we’re headed to the armory, then back out.”

As Reid opened his mouth, undoubtedly to argue how he could help, Prentiss snapped, “Reid! I’ll cuff you to the desk myself if you try to go out there. Morgan got hurt because he couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Please, can you just watch him for us?”

He nodded, and they left quickly for the armory. The door was propped open, but the room was bare. Not even a box of ammunition remained.

“Shit,” JJ said, voicing their collective thoughts.

* * * * * *

Prentiss left the station and quickly darted for cover in the shrubs near the front of the building. Things didn’t look good—the monster, a Diyahali Rossi had explained on the way out, had turned over all three cars in the parking lot and was currently stalking Dean Winchester.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hotch tending to Sam Winchester. The man’s back was covered with blood, but he was attempting to shake off Hotch’s concern.

“Sammy? You ok?” Dean shouted to his brother.

“Fine,” the other man replied. “Got any ideas? I’m out of bullets.”

“Me too. Damn yokels didn’t have more than two rounds in the armory. But I’ve got an idea.”

Sam groaned slightly, in pain or at the idea of another of his brother’s plans JJ wasn’t sure.

“Well,” Dean replied, “I’m going to need a distraction.”

“We can do that,” Prentiss replied, gesturing at herself and JJ. At Rossi’s glare, she lowered her voice and said. “We need to get Hotch out of here. He doesn’t look good.”

Hotch’s shirt had completely soaked through in blood and his face was ashen.

Prentiss explained further, “It’d take both JJ and I to move him and we’re still mobile. It’d be better to have the two of us working the distraction and you moving Hotch.”

Rossi nodded slowly. It was times that these that JJ appreciated her newest coworker. He was clearly unhappy at leaving the two women in danger to help Hotch, but Prentiss made sense. He ran over to Hotch quickly, then quickly supported his uninjured shoulder.

JJ started yelling and waving her arms to allow her coworkers access back into the building.

“What do you want us to do?” Prentiss yelled to the brothers as JJ ran.

“Well,” Dean replied. “I’ve got this nifty sword and Anna told me to practice.”

“What, you’re a dragon slayer now?” Sam replied. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“And so it goes,” Dean replied merrily.

“Shut it, you’re no Billy Pilgrim,” Prentiss replied. “What do you want us to do?

“Distract it!” he instructed as he sprinted for the front entrance stairs, freeing the swords from its makeshift scabbard.

Prentiss noticed JJ slowing across the parking lot, so she raised her own hands and started shouting. The lizard turned its head yet again and charged her. Prentiss had really been hoping it was losing interest in their running game of cat-and-mouse. Weren’t reptiles supposed to be relatively lazy predators?

She could see Dean Winchester scaling the building determinedly and suddenly got a terrible premonition of where this plan was headed. She locked eyes with Sam Winchester and saw her dismay mirrored on his face.

“You’re really going to have to stop letting your brother make plans,” she yelled.

“You’re telling me?” He replied with an eye roll. “You ready for some lizard herding?”

The both started running towards the building. The Diyahali followed them, as expected, and they reached the front door. When the lizard was getting uncomfortably close to their location, a dark shape flung itself off the roof and managed to land on the mammoth lizard’s back.

Dean started hacking at the monsters unprotected back, finally making an impact on the Diyahali. It bellowed in pain and tried to buck the intruder off, as if it were a champion bull at the rodeo. Dean grabbed its neck and started hacking at the base of its skull.

One, two, three powerful chops later and the head landed at Prentiss’ feet. Its eyes slowly dimmed and its teeth settled uncomfortably close to her toes.

Dean rolled off the Diyahali’s back with a loose grace. “And you thought my plan was stupid,” he accused his brother smugly.

“Your plan was stupid,” his brother replied. “You got lucky.” Sam walked over to the body and kicked it twice. “I can’t believe that worked.”

The body exploded suddenly in a burst of fire, sending entrails and blood soaring into the air and leaving the body a smoldering wreck in the middle of the parking lot.

“Holy crap!” JJ exclaimed, trying to look for cover from the raining guts, blood, and gore. She was, like Prentiss, generally unsuccessful. They looked like extra from a bad horror movie, Prentiss thought disgustedly as she took in the bloodstained appearance of her compatriots.

“Sweet!” Dean exclaimed. “Self-cleaning, man that makes things a heck of a lot easier.” The man seemed completely unperturbed at the goo streaking down his face. He turned to his brother, swore, and then tackled him.

“What the hell jerk?” Sam asked as the two wrestled, finally using his weight to flip and pin his brother.

“Your head was on fire,” Dean replied. “Just trying to keep that massive brain of yours intact, you ungrateful bitch.”

Sam let his brother go to gingerly pat his hair, evidently finding a crispy spot towards the back. When he turned back to give his brother a hand off the ground, JJ could see a baseball shaped burn on the back of his skull. She winced in sympathy, head wounds hurt.

* * * * * *

Waiting in the relative safety of the office was hell, Hotch decided. Though he knew he wouldn’t be much help outside against the Diyahali, it wasn’t in his nature to sit passively waiting for rescue. Though there were occasional crashes and shouts, for the most part Hotch had to strain to hear what was occurring outside. His shoulder throbbed angrily, reminding him yet again of his failure earlier in the evening.

He should have done something about Prentiss’ odd behavior. He had noticed her unusual anticipation to interview Dean Winchester, but hadn’t acted on it. Not only had he failed her, but his inaction had almost led to the death of his suspect, himself, and his team.

Reid, luckily, appeared more upset that he couldn’t see what was happening outside. When Rossi had helped Hotch into the office, he found Reid camped out near the window. Morgan lay propped up against the wall, his face ashen but his breathing steady and his eyes alert.

“I should go back out there,” Rossi said awkwardly. At Hotch’s nod, he turned on his heel sharply and left.

There was a terrible irony at work here, Hotch thought, where the able-bodied men are waiting to be saved by two women, two convicts, and an old man. He hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud until Reid corrected him.

“More of a reversal situation than irony, Hotch. There’s nothing inherently contradictory in our actions from our words,” Reid said. “Although, if you were aiming for a literary definition of irony, I suppose this could be ironic in that the men we arrested for murder are actually innocent and now protecting us. Though I fail to see how JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi would fit in.”

Hotch knew from long experience that further attempts to clarify would result in lectures on the importance of word choice, so he simply nodded his head in time with Reid’s pauses and continued to watch the door.

When it opened only minutes after Rossi left, Hotch was surprised. He hadn’t noticed any appreciable difference in the noise level outside, but following the older agent was JJ and Prentiss, as well as the Winchester brothers.

“What happened,” Hotch asked as soon as Rossi entered the room.

“I’m not too sure myself,” Rossi replied. “They came in as I went to help.” He dropped heavily onto a nearby desk. “Is it ding dong the witch is dead?”

“Don’t even joke about witches man, I can’t deal with that shit right now,” Dean Winchester replied tiredly.

“Yeah,” Prentiss confirmed to her injured coworkers, “it’s dead.”

“So what was it, exactly?” Reid asked. “Morgan was saying you called it a Diyahali? And it looked kind of like a giant lizard?”

“Yeah, the Cherokee called it a Diyahali,” Sam Winchester finally answered after a brief but silent battle of will with his brother.

It was like watching Jack and his friends, Hotch thought incredulously.

“According to Cherokee legends, a Diyahali is a great lizard that lives in the mountains and likes to eat people,” Sam explained.

“Like those two cops,” Dean interrupted.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed quietly. “When we were researching Thunderbirds we ran across the legends.”

“So it’s a Cherokee monster?” Reid asked curiously.

“It was named by the Cherokee,” he replied. “But monsters aren’t exactly specific about who they attack. We use the Cherokee name ‘cause it’s best described in Cherokee stories.”

“Though it might have been nice if they’d added a little more detail about how to kill them,” Dean added. “Lucky that beheading worked.”

“Does it sometimes not work?” JJ asked sickly.

“Usually works,” Sam replied. “Kills wendigos, vampires, rawheads—course the hard part is always getting close enough to go for the head.”

“Doesn’t work so well with zombies,” Dean reminded his brother.

“Right. Or really demons, spirits, old time gods,” Sam rambled. “For those you usually need to destroy their power center, earthly body, or grave. It kind of depends on what you’re facing.”

As Reid continued to pepper Sam, the large man matching Reid’s rapid-fire questions easily, Dean approached Hotch and Rossi. “So what’s happening next?” he asked quietly.

Hotch didn’t pretend he didn’t know what Winchester was asking. “We’re going to have to take you into custody. And then think of someway to explain the monster.”

“The Diyahali exploded,” Prentiss interrupted. “There’s just the body of the two night officers and a lot of property destruction to explain. And we know those charges are bogus now—why do we have to take them into custody?”

“You want to let them go?” Hotch asked incredulously and a little too loud judging by the sudden attention focused on him.

“They saved our lives!” Prentiss argued, “They saved my life, Hotch. I was trapped in my own body by that…thing, and I’m pretty sure I’d still be if it weren’t for them. And hey, the giant lizard didn’t eat me, so that’s another one I owe them. So forgive me for thinking we’d do the right thing here,” she finished sarcastically.

Arguments rang out from his other agents as well, from Reid, “It wouldn’t be fair!”, to JJ, “Can’t we just dismiss the charges?”, and surprisingly Rossi, “I think we should all talk about this before making a decision, Aaron.”

“Can we maybe vote on the jailing innocent people thing?” Morgan chimed in.

“This isn’t a town hall meeting,” Hotch replied slowly, looking each of his teammates in the eye. “The law is the law, we don’t get to decide when to uphold it — even in the face of new information. We arrest them, we transport them to the nearest federal penitentiary, then we go home. Got it?”

He ignored the mutinous look of his teams face and focused on their unhappy nods. He turned to the brothers, who had so far been quiet in the debate. “Are you going to come quietly?”

“I just want to point out something here,” Dean started. “Technically, I’m the only armed person here—and half your team is injured. We’ve got work to do, saving the world big. Don’t exactly have time for all this bullshit.”

“Look,” his brother added. “We do good work. Even Henricksen recognized that before he died. Can’t you just give us a head start or something?”

“Wait a minute, Henricksen knew?” Prentiss asked.

“He captured us, demons attacked the station, he let us go,” Dean summed up succinctly.

Hotch saw Prentiss stiffen slightly and Dean nod slightly at her questioning look. However, he had a more pressing question, “So how did Agent Henricksen really die?”

“A demon,” Sam explained softly. His face was full of guilt as he continued to explain. “Lilith.”

“As in Adam’s first wife?” Reid asked curiously.

“As in the first demon created by Lucifer,” Sam responded. “She killed everyone in the station. News claimed it was a gas leak, but it was her. That’s why we need to be out there—you guys can’t protect people from this, we can.”

“No offense, but if you two can do it, I’m pretty sure we can,” Rossi said.

“I’ve been training for this for over twenty-five years and I’m not sure what to do,” Dean challenged. “Look, I get that you think you need to take me into custody, but there’s no reason to hold Sam.”

“Dean!” his brother objected sharply. “Shut up!”

“Agent Hotchner, would that gel with your ethics?” Dean Winchester asked, ignoring his brother’s protests completely.

“If we take you into custody and let your brother go, he’s just going to break you out or at least try,” Hotch replied. Both brothers shifted uncomfortably, which he took as agreement. “You can’t protect your brother from this Dean. There are warrants for both of you.”

Hotch sighed. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. As much as he wanted to let the Winchesters go, he couldn’t. He didn’t approve of vigilantism, even if it was against creatures that threatened the lives and safety of the same members of the public he had sworn to protect, the Winchesters had to face responsibility for their actions. Based on tonight’s encounters, he’d be one of the first witnesses on the stand for the defense—if the St. Louis PD even had enough for a trial.

His team clearly wasn’t happy with him. JJ looked ready to practice her kickboxing with him, Reid’s puppy dog eyes were at full effect, and Rossi looked disappointed. He could hear Prentiss mumbling in Russian under her breathe, always a bad sign—she tended to use Arabic for death threats, Spanish for swears, and Russian for personal insults.

He couldn’t let his team go down this road though. Let two suspects go, and where would they end up? Their role wasn’t judge, jury, or executioner — they identified and apprehended suspects. Not to mention the fact that Strauss was already looking at his team closely; after Foyet’s escape and subsequent death at his hands, the Section Chief had renewed her interest in the team’s day-to-day affairs. When she found out his team allowed two of the FBI’s most wanted to slip through their fingertips, his team would be lucky to escape with their jobs.

“JJ, I want you to get in touch with the mayor, try to explain the damage the best you can. If the fire department hasn’t arrived, call them next. Dave, I want you to take Morgan to the hospital. Reid, go with him. Prentiss, you’re with me,” Hotch ordered. “We’ll be heading to the hospital too, but there are a few things we need to take care of first.”

Sam raised his head tentatively, “And us?”

“We’re prepping you two for transport to St. Louis,” Hotch replied slowly. “It’s time to face the music.”

* * * * * *

The sun had finally peeked over the horizon; it’s bright rays casting strange shadows over the rubble of the Jackson Police Station. A small, dark part of Hotch would always treasure the look on the mayor’s face when he finally saw the destruction—the man was the very definition of gobsmacked. He could only nod dumbly at Hotch’s hastily concocted story of terrorists attacking the station.

JJ was currently talking the shaken man through the report to the Department of Homeland Security; hopefully she would flesh out their cover story in the process. Normally the press of duty would oblige Hotch to be present in helping JJ lie to the local and federal authorities, however, he currently had to deal with the Winchesters.

“You’re a real dick, you know that, right?” Dean Winchester asked as he met Hotch on the remains of the front steps. Both he and his brother were handcuffed for the ride to the holding cells at the St. Louis regional office. It seemed the few hours of rest the brothers had caught while Hotch’s team sorted out the mess hadn’t helped his disposition.

Dean turned towards Prentiss, who was watching Sam. “Just make sure you stick to the design I drew and you should be good. Since Sammy and I got inked we haven’t had a problem. And remember...”

“Salt forms a barrier, anyone can create holy water with the right prayers and a rosary, and iron repels spirits,” Prentiss recited dutifully. “Got it. And if that doesn’t work?”

“Try to find a professional,” Sam replied.

“Only be careful of who you find on the Internet. The Ghostfacers have a decent site, but they’re a bunch of idiots who are more likely to get you killed,” Dean added.

Hotch shot Prentiss a look over the top of the car as he helped Dean into the backseat. He would be having a talk with her about all this — when had she talked to the brothers about supernatural defenses?

“I’m much obliged for such a pleasant stay,” Dean snarked as Hotch moved to shut the door. Prentiss had already secured Sam, and the two brothers were crammed into the bench seat of the rental SUV uncomfortably.

“But now it’s time for you to go,” Hotch finished, enjoying the shock on Dean’s face as he completed the song lyric. He shut the door with smirk and walked back to join Prentiss.

“Planning on getting ink?” he asked Prentiss quietly.

“One tattoo and I don’t have to worry about possession anymore. Seems like a small price,” she replied evenly. “We talked for a while, they gave me Supernatural Monsters and Other Things That Want to Kill You 101.”

Before Hotch had a chance to reply, the engine of the SUV roared to life and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Guess I didn’t secure them well enough,” Hotch said to a chagrined Prentiss. “I’ve heard this kind of thing can happen when you don’t have any squad cars for transporting prisoners. And the prisoners get a hold of a paperclip, somehow.”

“Shouldn’t we go after them?” Prentiss asked as they watched the truck speed east.

“You know, I think that’s a job for the locals,” Hotch replied. “It’s time for us to go home.”

"Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed." G.K. Chesterton

* * * * * *

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Hotch walked through his front door, dropping his keys into the nearby bowl, and headed into his study, absently looking for his bottle of whiskey. He bent down to the gun safe and locked his service pistol in with the push of a button. He was looking forward to his weekend with Jack, hopefully spending some time with his son would erase, or at least dull, the horrific scenes from the latest case.

The things humans do to each other, he thought morbidly as he raised the glass to his lips. After taking a long drink, he absently bent down to tie his shoelace. He pulled his second gun from his ankle holster and pointed it at the man standing in his home.

“Chill G-man,” grinned Dean Winchester. “You’d think you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

“What are you doing here?” Hotch questioned, looking around for the younger Winchester brother.

“Sammy’s stealing your wireless in the den,” Winchester replied to his unasked question, ignoring the verbal one. “You should probably pick a harder password.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“We were in the area, thought we’d say hi,” Winchester offered unconvincingly. “Maybe grab a beer?”

“What’d you do?” Hotch asked tiredly, finally lowering his pistol. Winchester had disappeared into his kitchen; there was no point in continuing if his intruder was absolutely unconcerned with the threat.

“Just cleaning up a little ghost problem in DC” Winchester responded, going through his refrigerator. “Dude, your milk is way past its expiration date.”

The deliberately casual answers made the hair on Hotch’s neck stand up, same as when Jack told him the monster under his bed ate the last of the cookies. “Where in DC?” he asked suspiciously.

Winchester refused to look at him.

Sam Winchester’s voice floated through the open doors, “Dean, it doesn’t look like the story’s going mainstream—Secret Service probably doesn’t want it getting out. Damn it, that another government agency after us.” He continued, “That just leaves the State Department, the FDA, and the Coast Guard, right?”

Dean Winchester grimaced and shouted back, “You’re forgetting about that black dog in Tahoe — I don’t think the Coast Guard has though.”

Hotch knew his mouth had dropped open throughout the course of this exchange, but at this point he could care less. “You two exorcised a ghost from the WHITE HOUSE?”

His shouting brought Sam Winchester into the room, holding a laptop to his chest protectively. He had healed from the events, Hotch refused to call it a battle, in Missouri and his hair was finally growing in.

Hotch took a deep breath, counted to ten, then glared at both men. “What kind of idiots are you? How is sneaking into the White House and exorcising a ghost keeping a low profile?”

Sam shrugged his massive shoulders, “It had to be done. Otherwise it would have kept killing visitors—already got fifteen before we arrived.”

Hotch sighed, thinking back longingly on the days when he captured fugitives instead of harbored them. “All right, you can stay the night. But I need you gone tomorrow morning—and don’t tell me where you’re going, please.”

After a quick fight over who got the guest bedroom and who slept on the coach, the Winchesters were settled for the night. Sam won using the most impressive puppy-eyed look Hotch had ever seen and that included attempts by his son, Garcia, and Reid (and one memorable time from Garcia and Reid).

The next morning Hotch woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Unsurprisingly, the Winchesters were gone, but they left a note along with the pot of coffee. It was a phone number with a short note — “The time has come to be gone. It’s time to ramble on — Jimmy and Robert.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> REFERENCES
> 
> Pg 1: The British doctor on the BBC that Prentiss and Reid are debating is Doctor Who
> 
> Pg 2: David St. Hubbins, a character from “Spinal Tap” (as explained by Garcia)
> 
> Pg 7: The wince at the brother was an oblique reference to Adam Milligan, the Winchester brothers’ half-brother who died in Season 4
> 
> Pg 8: The Led Zeppelin song Dean is tapping is “Ramble On,” one of his favorite songs
> 
> Pg 15: Reid’s evil twin, eviler twin theory was first floated in the Criminal Minds episode 4.02 “The Angel Maker”
> 
> Page 20: The Manners Motor Home, where Rossi and Morgan find Dean and Sam’s room, is a nod to Kim Manners, the late producer of Supernatural (he also produced the X-files)
> 
> Pg 21: Carl Palmer is the drummer for Asia, whose music Dean likes (“Heat of the moment” was featured in Supernatural episode 3.11 “Mystery Spot”)
> 
> Pg 21: The last name of the Warden of the prison Sam and Dean escaped from was never given in Supernatural episode 2.19. I chose “Hawken” as a tribute to the show’s love of giving their main character’s family names related to guns. In this case, the Hawken Rifle, made by Samuel and Joseph Hawken of St. Louis, was popular in hunting large game (.50 caliber or more)
> 
> Pg 26: Dean calls out to Prentiss and JJ that they can be like Three’s Company where “no one has to play gay.” Three’s Company was an American sitcom that ran from 1977 to 1984 where one of the main characters, Jack (John Ritter) pretended to be gay so he would be allowed to live in an apartment with his two female roommates.
> 
> Pg 26: Why is Reid disdainful of Stanford? Because he’s a Cal Tech boy and schools always have local rivalries (even though I know full well that Cal Tech versus M.I.T is where the real action is).
> 
> Pg 29: The exorcism rite that Dean attempts is taken from Supernatural episode 1.22 “Devil’s Trap”, written by Eric Kripke
> 
> Pg 30: The Park Ranger’s name “Joan Ross” is a tribute to the influential Cherokee Chief, John Ross who led the Cherokee Nation from 1828 to 1860. He was also known as Guwisguwi—a mythological or rare migratory bird.
> 
> Pg 35: Anna appears, it’s a deus ex machina (PUN INTEDED SO HARD)
> 
> Pg 37: The sword’s name, Ascalon, is drawn from the tradition name of the sword St. George used to slay the Dragon in the story “St. George and the Dragon.”
> 
> Pg 39: the Ford Thunderbird was produced from 1955 to 2005 and created the Personal Luxury Car niche market.
> 
> Pg 50: Caroll Spinney has officially played “Big Bird” on the US version of Sesame Street since 1969.
> 
> Pg 52: Steve McQueen starred in the 1963 movie “The Great Escape” about a group of WWII allies attempting to escape from a Nazi POW camp. Dean also references him in “Folsom Prison Blues.”
> 
> Pg 52: Dean asks Reid,“Don’t you guys normally fly off into the sunset after you catch the bad guy?” It seems to me the majority of Criminal Minds episodes really do end with the BAU on their jet flying off into the sunset, so I just thought I’d have Dean say it for me.
> 
> Pg 54: JJ’s brothers’ names. JJ has no canonical history, but I’ve always considered her to be the youngest daughter in a large family. Her brothers’ names are a shoutout to the writing staff of Criminal Minds: Edward Allen Bernero (Eddie), Andrew Fisher (Andy), and Simon Mirren (Simon).
> 
> Pg 56: Roma Downey was a lead character on the 1990s television show “Touched by an Angel,” known for its saccharine story lines about Angels doing good.
> 
> Pg 61: “And so it goes” is the refrain from Kurt Vonnegut’s novel “Slaughter House Five.” Both Prentiss and Dean have a canonical love of the author.
> 
> Pg 65: “Can we maybe vote on the whole…” a tribute to the pilot episode “Serenity” of Firefly (MORGAN’S a BIG DORK TOO!)
> 
> Pg 68: Dean and Hotch are quoting “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin lyrics at each other.
> 
> Pg 70 (epilogue): The note Dean and Sam leave for Hotch includes yet more lyrics from “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin. “Jimmy” and “Robert” refer to Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, both members of the band.


End file.
